The List
by smak978
Summary: "Succorbentis?" Malfoy asked quietly, his face immediately hidden by that insufferable mask. "You have Succorbentis?" Silence. "You know it's an incredibly rare disease, right? You know it's incurable, right?" Silence. "...No wonder you're in denial." Ron/Hermione/Gryff Bashing
1. Nothing was supposed to change

I do not own anything here, nor am I making a profit from this. It is purely to pass my time, and hopefully, interest other people. J. owns Harry Potter, not me.

**Chapter One - Nothing was supposed to Change**

Madam Pomfery loved her job. She loved mending students, sending them away happy, and being able to control the hospital wing with her glare alone. After the war, she had decided she would spend her time making students happy again, treating them for depression and ensuring every single one of her students would graduate in the perfect picture of health. She was a woman on a mission. She would even tolerate the slytherins, she thought with a frown, and treat any injuries they got; she would be damned into hell before she smiled at them though. It was an outrage that they were even allowed back into the school, and she had voiced her concerns heavily to the headmistress, but they were back to stay. Well, she would dedicate her time to the other students, and make them all smile again; after the war, they needed to celebrate and smile as much as they could.

While everyone else was in the Great Hall feast celebrating the beginning of a new year, Madam Pomfery was busy tidying the hospital wing, double checking her potions and even contemplating a colour change. Maybe yellow, the colour of happiness? Although she knew she was regarded as a stern woman, she could surprise the students still. It was looking like a good year.

The sound of the door closing hinted that she was not alone anymore. Surprisingly, or not, in her regards, Harry Potter was standing sheepishly by the door, hesitating before making his way across the room. There was something different about him, but she brushed it aside. He was going to be the strongest this year, the happiest, without the constant threat of He-Who-Shall-Not-Be-Named lurking over his shoulder. Harry, if anyone, deserved contentment more than any other person here, student or teacher alike.

He smiled, the mock happiness not quite reaching his eyes. Something was wrong.

He handed her a letter, refusing to meet her eyes.

A seal has a wand and a bone crossed; Mungo's symbol.

Madam Pomfery loathed her job. Especially when she had to tend to a student that had no hope.

"What's up, Harry? I know, potions as the first lesson of the year but...oh Merlin…that is really depressing, isn't it?"He trailed off, suddenly his own grin faltering. Harry smirked at Ron, knowing it didn't reach his eyes but trying nevertheless. He didn't really smile anymore, more like a grimace or a half-hearted smirk. Never a smile.

"Thanks for the pep talk there Ron. Made me loads better."

"Anytime mate…potions. I haven't made a potion in over a year! I'm going to be pathetic! This is ridiculous…how do they expect us to catch up? I'm barely a sixth grade level now!"

Harry sighed to himself at Ron panicking, watching him talk himself into a pale wreck. He was panicking about potions. Potions. As if passing that class was the end all, as if that one class was able to settle every dream he had and hold up his future on a shining platter. How was he supposed to console his friend when he could barely hold his scoff back? Harry was kind of looking forwards to being abysmal in potions this year; he might even explode a few cauldrons on purpose, just to torment everyone else. Seriously, worrying about Potions. Harry barely managed not to roll his eyes.

Harry knew it wasn't Ron's fault. He knew he should probably have told Ron and Hermione as soon as he found out something was wrong the few weeks after the battle. He should stop his facade of contentedness and turn to them both, shut them up about talking about _Potions_, and say loudly 'hey guys, are you going to ask me where I disappeared to after the war, because I'm ready to tell you about this _thing_ taking control over my body, my magic and my life…'. But he didn't. He couldn't. And it was too late to tell them now. He just felt awkward, knowing full well he would get lectured, and they would cry, and he would feel like shit for weeks after. No, he couldn't tell them. How were you even supposed to bring it up? Over dinner? Maybe a chess game? 'Hey, Ron, let's share out exploits over the summer! Really, you and Hermione got together? Jeez, congrats! Me? Nah, I can't date anyone anymore; turns out I'm dying'…It didn't even sound good in Harry's head, eloquent as he always was.

He had had enough turning around to see everyone staring at him wildly, almost _bowing_ as he passed. He had had enough of looking at the prophet in the morning to see his own face plastered across the pages with titles as irritating as possible. _The Boy Who Lives Missing? Harry Potter, New Dark Lord? A Boy With More Than One Scar? _Merlin, it was unbearable. Humorous, whilst he was in hospital. The story about how he had eloped with a vampire with an evident neck fetish had interested him. The one about how he had become a hermit, with his hair growing widely and his nails so long they were curling and yellow had amused him.

The amusement had stopped, however, as soon as he entered the train. With people glancing at his neck, or whispering to each other as soon as they sighed over his _normal_ nails. The whispering behind his back, the immediate shushing as soon as he glanced their way…it was as if they had never met him before, as if they had never seen him walking the halls of his school. The reverence they held, and often, the fear, was grating Harry's nerves. As soon as someone in the school found out about _it_, it would spread like wildfire. He could picture the headings now. _The Boy Who Can Live No Longer. Saviour Of The Wizarding World, A Squib. How Will Muggle Harry Cope?_

That was why he couldn't tell Ron or Hermione. Not wouldn't, but physically _couldn't_.

Ron would get angry at first, that he hadn't been informed immediately. He would ignore it, fluster about and say inappropriate things at all the wrong moments. Hermione would be worse, crying, hugging, and then straight to the library to find a cure or create one. Harry knew of her brilliance, and Ron was still his best mate, but sometimes, you needed to struggle through something alone. God, he had done that more than enough to know how.

So, he pretended to smile at Ron, exchanged knowing glances with Hermione, and pushed his food around on his plate, not that hungry. After letting Madam Pomfrey know last night, he had been ushered by the blubbering nurse to the Headmistress, who also shed a quick tear before pretending it had never dribbled down her aged cheek. They demanded to know everything, which Harry had begrudgingly told, and swore not to tell any students. The teachers would be informed, but that would be all. It was all up to Harry's discretion. Thankfully.

Then they continued to talk.

Harry was no longer allowed to use excessive magic, only the bare minimum. He had pushed this point, saying it would be obvious something was wrong if he just didn't use magic at all. He had returned for a life of normalcy, and was going to be normal.

Harry had to report to the Hospital Wing. Daily. Just to ensure he could take his potions as directed. After all, in these types of cases, usually the patient stopped taking the medicine or started to have…questions about mortality. Harry attempted a smile, shaking his head. He had no plans to end his life, not when he was finally home.

His housemates had to be informed, for his own safety and wellbeing. Here, Harry had finally put his foot down, no longer agreeing and being polite. It was _his_ life, and he wanted _normalcy._ No one, except for his teachers, were going to know of this, and if they did, he would be pulling out of school immediately. He was _not_ going through the whispering and the gossiping and concerned glances again. He was of legal age now. He was making his own decision, and there was nothing they could do about it.

Harry should go to bed. He must be exhausted.

Yeah, they didn't know the half of it.

Harry sighed again, finally declaring he was full and following his friends down to the dungeon. He had been living on a slim hope that once he had gotten back to Hogwarts, everything would be okay. It was the reason he remained sane all through summer, through the tests and the medicine. Now, being back here with his friends and house, all he could think of was how much he wanted to be alone. They all seemed so _happy_ and were able to laugh as if it were nothing. And no one had even asked Harry about his fake grimace. Did they not see it, or did they simply not care? Which answer was worse?

The Gryffindors lined up outside the classroom, their voices dropping into harsh whispers as they suddenly glared at the other occupants. Harry blinked up too, for the first time surprised. Only half the Slytherins decided to return this year. Knowing they would be ostracised and hated stopped most from considering entering Hogwarts again. How depressing, Harry mused. Hogwarts was his home. It could be theirs too, and the gossip had stopped them from returning. Another enticement for keeping his secret to himself; he couldn't deal with the gossip anymore, and quite frankly, _wouldn't. _

The Slytherins stood in near silence.

Parkinson was blatantly refusing to meet anyone's gaze, gaze to the floor and biting her lip worriedly. Usually, the snappy girl would flaunt herself and others, but now she was silent. Goyle likewise refused to look at anyone, but instead glared holes through the walls. He looked unstable, as if he was barely holding on underneath the surface. As if he felt the stare, he suddenly turned his head to stare at Harry, eyebrows folding to cover his small eyes immediately. He snarled, clenching his hands before spinning around, literally showing his back to Harry. The hostility was expected, but not to that extent. Harry blinked, eyes flickering to the other Slytherins. Zambini was whispering to Nott, who both flicked their eyes to meet Harry's startled ones before talking again. Great. It had started.

Sighing, Harry glanced at the last Slytherin in his class, blinking as he met grey eyes immediately.

Malfoy was impeccable as ever of course. Head held high, he lazily regarded the Gryffindor before turning away with a roll of his eyes. Nothing grated Malfoy, it was beneath him. At least some things never changed.

Harry felt his lips twitch, surprisingly and bit into it to stop it spreading. Not one smile, and _Malfoy_ was the one to break that habit? Perhaps he was going mad. Well, madder.

He felt eyes on him again but kept his face to the floor, blatantly ignoring them. He wasn't going to rise to the bait, not this year. He had other things to preoccupy his time with. But then, he wanted normalcy, didn't he?

The door opened before he could settle his thoughts, and he grudgingly entered the room last.

He made a move to his usual spot, but stopped abruptly as he realised there _was_ no seat for him. The classroom, usually, was set out with three seats around a cauldron…this year, there were only two. Which were filling remarkably quickly.

Ron sidled next to Hermione, naturally, grinning at her as he asked whether or not the cauldron was free in what he surely considered a sultry voice. Since they had kissed in the war, they had become inseparable, and almost insufferable. They took 'snuggling' to a new extreme, and Harry was surprised Hermione wasn't calling Ron 'Won Won' yet. He didn't mind that they were sitting together, he had expected it, but it didn't stop the hurt from flashing across his face.

They didn't even consider him, didn't give him a second of their thoughts. And that wasn't all. Dean and Seamus were together, naturally, and by this time Harry usually made a beeline for Neville, but the chair next to him was likewise occupied…by Parvati Patil not less. Parvati barely gave Neville a thought a day, and definitely knew of his reputation during potions, and yet, she was sitting there, huffily taking her books out.

Okay, he could cut her some slack. Usually she sat next to Lavender. Usually, her friend would be smiling and waving her over, desperate to divulge in the latest gossip. Not anymore.

Harry stood there, nonplussed. He, for the first time, didn't have anyone to sit with in potions, because they didn't give him time of day. First day back, and none of his friends wanted to sit with him? Not a word all holiday, and now _this_ in _potions_? _Fuck them all_.

"Hmm, Harry, dear boy! Please, take a seat." Slughorn waited for Harry to sit, drawing attention to him from the class. Suddenly, all his friends understood.

"Oh…_oh!_ Sorry Harry, I just didn't think-"

"It's fine." Harry snapped, not caring if his tone was a bit too harsh. Why didn't they notice him yet? Why didn't they notice that he wasn't smiling? He turned instead to the other side of the room, almost groaning. Malfoy and Zambini were together, both with their eyebrows raised as Harry's gaze stopped on their table for slightly longer than necessary. Parkinson was lounging back on her chair with Nott as a partner…which left a cloudy Goyle all by himself.

Holding in his sigh, Harry went over to Goyle's cauldron and sat in it gingerly, feeling as though he was in a nest of vipers. In front of them, Malfoy and Zambini. Behind him, Nott and Parkison. Goyle was on his right, closest to the door. He was surrounded by Slytherins, and could feel every gaze on him immediately. Ron shared his thoughts. Sort of.

"Sir, you can't let Harry sit there! It's dangerous, sitting with a bunch of-"

"Mr Weasley, I could advise caution before speaking about my house."

"…Come on, it's Harry! He should be the _last_ person to sit with _them!_"

"Well, you didn't give me much choice." Harry snapped at Ron, catching his blank expression before facing the table. "Just leave it."

A hushed silence rang though the classroom before Slughorn began speaking again in rushed, excited tones. "Well, I thought before be begin the term, we should catch up on some of the last potions we did, shouldn't we? Therefore, you all have to pick a potion, any potion, in the book, and you have one and a half hours to concoct it. Good luck, winner gets thirty house points. Off you go, off you go! No time wasting!"

Harry sighed and turned to Goyle, who was staring at him sullenly. He had never really seen him this close before, despite the skirmishes through the school years. His small piggy eyes reminded him immediately of Dudley, and he hulked over Harry, not missing anything he did as he stared at him angrily. He flicked the book open, not even looking at the page, and glowered at Harry.

"We're making that one. Don't speak to me, don't touch me. You fucking got it?" He snarled, watching furiously as Harry simply nodded and didn't fight at all. He stood up, staring at Harry again for a moment, before storming to the back of the room to the ingredient cupboard.

Harry, remembering to breathe, had to stop himself from smiling again. This was ridiculous. He had _killed_ the strongest wizard in all time…and yet, he was scared of a fellow student that had barely said two words to him before now? It was ludicrous. Trying not to smile, he felt eyes on him and stiffened slightly. He started boiling his cauldron, and flicked through the book at the ingredients in surprise. Well, he had already made this potion once. Doing it a second time wouldn't be that difficult. After all, he had had a great teacher.

Harry still felt the eyes on him, and finally, glanced up to grey eyes. Malfoy raised his eyebrows at him, as if he was staring first, and smirked. "The Weasel was right, you know. It really isn't safe for you to be sitting over here."

Harry didn't bat an eye. "And I should care…because?" He asked, watching Malfoy smirk again and turn back to the front of the room as Goyle returned. He dumped the ingredients on the desk roughly and got out a knife, starting to hack at the wormwood. Harry sighed, picking up the valerian roots and began to slice them thinly, keeping an eye on the still smirking Malfoy. Why did he let him have the last word? What was he planning?

The Slytherin side of the room worked in silence.

Harry grabbed the sopophorous bean and crushed it with the back of his blade, about to add it to his potion when Goyle stabbed it with his knife. Harry jerked his hands back, almost getting nicked and turned to him angrily. "_What's your problem?_"

"You, you half-blood filth." He growled back, teeth clenched furiously. "Follow the instructions."

"_I am_."

"You're fucking not. Next time, the knife gets your hand." He growled, wrenching it free and glaring at Harry. He could feel the other occupants of the room staring at him again, daring him to do it. He could feel the heat rushing to his face, and clenched his teeth angrily. Then, in one daring move, he grabbed the board and let the crushed bean's juice run into the potion.

Silence.

Harry placed the board back down, and picked up the ladle, starting to stir the potion counter-clockwise, counting under his breath. He glanced up, still counting, as he saw Goyle clench the knife tighter in one hand, his wand in the other. Harry got to seven, swallowed, and brought it back clockwise. The potion grew lighter. And he was shoved off of his chair as his stool disappeared underneath him.

Harry slammed onto the tiles, feeling his glasses snap and growled, getting to his feet and wiping his grazed hand on his robe. He took off his glasses, instead pocketing them. He couldn't magic them right, not here. He reached forwards again, grabbing the ladle, and began to stir again. Seven times. One clockwise.

He couldn't see what happened, instead had to squint at Goyle who seemed closer than he was a second ago.

"Goyle, if you curse him, we'll have every fucking Gryffindork throwing hexes at all of us. Pocket your bloody wand." Malfoy drawled, he, too, closer than Harry remembered. Harry swallowed, sitting back on his stool, hand lingering on the ladle.

"Well Potty, you have our attention. Continue." Malfoy drawled, smirking, Harry thought for sure. Harry blinked, swallowing slightly. Was this some sort of test? How the hell did it turn to this?

He swallowed again, and started stirring his potion, counting in his head. When he got to the seventh, he paused, and did one clockwise. He felt breathing on his neck and turned around, squinting at who it was, unable to tell. All the Slytherins were leaning over their desks, crowding him, trying to see what he was doing. It was unnerving that none of them spoke, only watched. Goyle was growling and muttering somewhere to his right, so Harry, if just to annoy him, kept stirring the potion. Seven anti-clockwise, one clockwise.

"Hmm, I'm guessing this is how you beat us last year." Harry glanced up at Malfoy, frowning slightly. He seemed to notice his slip and huffed, "I meant two years ago. In potions."

This was getting weird. Harry kept stirring, finally noticing that the potion had turned as clear as water. The perfect Draught of Living Death.

He put the ladle away, tapping his fingers slightly, unnerved at the attention and how they weren't giving him his space.

"But you're terrible at potions." Parkinson was the first to speak up, and apparently the one breathing on his neck. Harry jerked at the voice, squinting at her as he answered.

"This is the only potion I'm able to brew."

"You're not supposed to defer from the instructions."

"Because Slytherins are so good at following the rules?" He heard a quick chuckle, turning to strain to see who it was. Did he…just make a joke with a Slytherin?

"He's got you there Pans." Malfoy snickered, turning around and suddenly the spell was released. All the Slytherins went back to their respective potions, leaving Harry bloody well confused. He fingered his glasses, feeling the broken glass with his finger and wishing he could see. He knew Goyle had left his chair, but felt more comfortable with him in sight. He had changed after the war, and not for the better.

Finally Slughorn had announced Harry and Goyle as the winners, to the Gryffindor's amazement and the Slytherin's indifference. Malfoy spoke again, muttering though he was heard throughout the now stifled room.

"_And_, he did it blind."

Harry turned to Malfoy, who was blatantly looking away. Was he being nice, or was it a joke?

It was a relief when Slughorn finally called it a day, Harry hurrying to grab his things and slip outside, still squinting at everyone. He thought he saw bushy hair, and stumbled towards it, but then Hermione grabbed his arm from behind, pulling him behind them.

"…what happened to your glasses?"

"Uh, I can't remember the wand movement to go with the spell…"

Hermione rolled her eyes, or Harry presumed she did, before jabbing her wand forwards to mend the broken glasses. They were both staring at Harry, with impatient expressions.

"…Uh…what?"

"What? _What?_ Harry! We looked over and they were bloody hanging off of your every word! That _cow_ Parkinson looked as if she was about to give you a hickey!"

"Well, she didn't." Harry snapped uncomfortably, heading up for a break before lunch. "None of this would have happened anyway, if you had saved me a seat. Really, did you just forget about me or was it intentional?"

"Yeah, sure, blame us Harry. Seriously, what were you doing?"

"Nothing, I had a quick chat, they were watching me as I worked. They were actually fine."

"Oh, really, nothing was it?" Harry turned to Ron, hesitating when he saw his face the infamous red and a look of disbelief in his eyes. He grimaced at Harry, as if he was a stranger. "Maybe you should go and fucking sit with them for lunch then, if you like chatting with _them_ so much!"

"Oh, just _fuck off!_" Harry bellowed, turning to the both of them, not caring that they were in a crowded corridor and had every eye glued to their fight. "Would you _prefer_ me to act like a dick and get hexed all lesson, or maybe, just _maybe_, make it through the year _without _having a fucking miserable time as usual? There were no seats, so I sat there! Big fucking deal! Grow! Up!" He slung his bag over his shoulder and shoved his way through the crowd, regardless of the whispers that followed him. Great. Fantastic. Day one, not even lunch, and he had already snapped at them.

Harry ignored the stares he was getting and instead ran through the great hall, storming through the grounds before settling under a tree, directly next to the lake. Hogwarts wasn't supposed to have changed. The Slytherins were _not_ supposed to show an interest in him, they were supposed to fight and hate each other. The Gryffindors were _not_ supposed to forget him, they were supposed to stick by him until the end and joke around like they usually did. McGonagall was _not_ supposed to _cry_! Slughorn was _not_ supposed to give him sympathetic glances all through the classroom. The only one acting normal was fucking Goyle, and he was a brainless, sadistic prick!

Harry growled to himself, wiping his eye hurriedly. He was not going to cry. He hadn't cried yet, had he? He ground his teeth angrily, punching the ground before slamming his head back against the tree.

Hogwarts was _not_ supposed to change!

_...Why didn't they notice he couldn't smile?_


	2. Smile

I do not own anything here, nor am I making a profit from this. It is purely to pass my time, and hopefully, interest other people. J. owns Harry Potter, not me.

I hope this chapter answers some questions, and I hope I haven't completely ruined the story with this chapter. All chapters won't be out this quick, or probably this long, it's just I had this one edited and complete, and you're reviews spurred me to update :)

So a big thank you to Shishiri, Simple, MaiKanon, Petrichor-3, ParanormalMoonlight, violetkitty02, xDeadxRainbowx, Little Miss Scandalous, Angel-Miyu, xSaffire55x, Allyieh, Violent Profanity, and MirrorFlower and DarkWind for reviewing! :D Thank you!

**Chapter Two - Smile **

It took Harry a good day to get over his bitterness. Not get over it as in forgive his friends for their ignorant blindness, but push it to the side as he realised that if he wasn't going to tell anyone, then he couldn't really take it out on them either.

So, rather stubbornly, Harry eventually wandered down to breakfast the next morning, sighing as he stood opposite the silent couple. "…I'm sorry. I shouldn't have snapped at you…I was angry, but I shouldn't have let it out on you."

"No, you shouldn't have." Hermione was the first to speak, naturally. She turned a hurt gaze upon him, only making the gnawing in his gut squirm uncomfortably. They weren't making this any easier.

She swatted Ron's hand as he continued to sit there sullenly, an enticement to at least _look up_. The gnarled table couldn't be that interesting.

"Ron, mate…?"

Ron shuffled uneasily for a moment, glancing at the Slytherin table before frowning again. "…So, it was only doing the work…nothing else? You're not…friends with them or anything, right?"

"Yes, nothing else! Honestly, I was only making the potion, and they all started staring at it…they were waiting for it to explode or something, I wasn't following the instructions." Harry glanced at the Slytherin table, blinking in surprise as he caught grey eyes staring back at him. The eyes were glinting with amusement, obviously noticing the drift between the three. Was it really _that_ interesting to watch his friendship deteriorate? Didn't the blonde git have anything better to do?

Harry glared back at him heatedly, refusing to look away from the obvious challenge in the air. It wasn't until the eyebrow was raised that Harry was able to wrench his gaze away, realising his mistake too late.

"Oh, yeah, nothing my arse! What are you looking at Malfoy for?"

"Nothing Ron, jeez, keep it down!"

Ron's face was already a splotchy red. He jerked to his feet, catching the attention of not only the Gryffindors, but the entire hall. He clenched his hands angrily, apparently not noticing the rapt attention on them. "You said it was 'fine'! You said you 'chatted'!"

"_What's your point?"_

"The point? _The point?_ They're Slytherins!"

If anyone had any confusion about the argument, they didn't now. Simultaneously, all eyes turned to glare at the table bathed in green. "They're Death-Eaters and worse! They wanted you _killed_ Harry! They tried to _kill us!_ They k-killed…" He shuddered, trying to breathe, face red. Harry had had enough.

Conscious of the blatant straining ears on his conversation, he leaned closer, trying so speak softly. "Okay mate, I understand. I'm sorry, okay? I'm sorry." He was sorry, for more than he wanted to be. He was sorry everyone died for him in the last battle. He was sorry for Ron, who had lost his brother over his friend. His friend that was now also dying. God, Harry was sorry. But, he couldn't lose Ron too. No matter how angry he got, not matter how pathetically weak, he couldn't lose Ron. He wouldn't make it if Ron loathed him too.

"Ron. I'm sorry…" Something in his tone must have convinced him because out of nowhere he stopped yelling, and swallowed tightly, staring at Harry. He nodded, sitting down and roughly grabbed a plate of food. The eyes of the hall switched to Harry instead.

He never had gotten used to the insistent staring. Those merciless eyes, all drilling into him, judging his every word and action.

"…I'm going to head back to the dorm-"

"Don't be stupid. Sit down." Ron muttered, not facing Harry but steadily filling his mouth. Harry swallowed again, ignoring the hundred eyes glued to him and slowly sat down. It was as if he flicked a switch; the whispering started up, a hissing that echoed through the hall. No one was bothering to stay relatively quiet, either.

He glanced at Hermione, who shrugged as if to say 'you brought it upon yourself'. This was completely unfair. He entered the potions class, and there were no seats left because his friends didn't think to save him one. He had to sit with the Slytherins. So what? He spoke and didn't get hexed. _So what?_

Harry waited for his face to cool down, but the whisper increased. Pavati was being quite loud as she spoke to Ginny and Luna about the class yesterday. Harry met Ginny's furious brown eyes and groaned to himself as she turned away huffily. Day two, and it was already unbearable.

Harry sighed, mixing the food around on his plate and trying to ignore all the stares on his back. This was unbearable. Hermione eventually took pity on him, tapping his arm to get his attention.

"Do you think eighth years are able to try out for quidditch this year?"

Ron glanced up immediately, eyes wide.

"Merlin, I didn't even think about that? What do you think Harry, will we get the team back one last time? The cup does look awfully good in the Gryffindor office, doesn't it? With you as seeker and me as a keeper, they'll stand no chance. No one will want to come up against the great Harry Potter, will they? They'll think you'll blast them off their brooms." He chuckled, slightly happier now as he pulled a few more plates towards himself. Harry glanced gratefully at Hermione, who shrugged again, the move steadily becoming one of her favourites. Ron would be furious when he discovered Harry had already turned down McGonagall's offer. He swished his food aimlessly on his plate. He wasn't that hungry anymore.

Trying to be casual about it, he glanced up and tried to survey the room. Almost everyone was whispering, giggling, rolling their eyes. It was as if they had nothing to worry about, as if this was entertainment that couldn't be missed. Great.

Ravenclaw looked smug. Hufflepuff mildly interested. Gryffindor looked peeved.

Harry really knew he shouldn't, but he glanced at the Slytherin table again. Out of curiosity. Malfoy was staring blatantly back at him, eyebrows raised. He smirked at Harry, holding up his index finger and gestured a circle around it a couple times.

Growling, Harry jerked his eyes away. He was _not_ wrapped around their fingers. They were both angry, and Ron had lost more than Harry had, so Harry was being the bigger person. Being the bigger person did _not_ mean you were _owned_.

He trailed after the two to Transfiguration, bitter and angry. How _dare_ Malfoy laugh at him? Never mind the entire school, that could be overlooked. It was _Malfoy's_ sardonic smirk that was grating Harry. He always had that bloody sneer on his face, always had to have the last word.

The hall made him uncomfortable. Malfoy made him furious.

They entered the room, sitting together. Harry attempted a half-hearted smile at Ron, but it was forced. Very forced. And it didn't help that Malfoy smirked as he past their table, evidently amused.

McGonagall began the class with a lecture, as expected, and then went on to see how much everyone had forgotten.

"Today we will be doing simple vanishing spells, to see how much everyone remembers. After everyone has successfully managed a vanishing spell, you may begin to take notes on Milticorfors, on page One Hundred and three…Well, what are you waiting for? Mr Potter, you can get the slugs from the cupboard. If everyone manages to vanish them, we'll get the mice. There will be _no_ Milticorfors in my class until you all manage a simple vanishing spell."

Harry stumbled to the cupboard and unwillingly brought out the small cage of slugs. It was covered in slime and smelt like rotting food. He started the rounds anyway, reaching in and pulling out a slug for each person, cringing as he had to touch the slimy creatures. Parkinson grimaced too as he pulled out a large slug for her, covered with green mucus. She grinned weakly, raising her eyebrows at him as if it were his choice, not an instruction.

"Jeez, thanks Potter." Usually her sneer would have him double checking he hadn't been cursed or jinxed whilst he wasn't paying attention; today, it barely registered.

Feeling glares at the back on his head from the rest of the class, he continued on, dropping one onto Zambini's desk and turning to the next person. It was then that something held his feet, tightening around them like a rope. Mid step his feet were yanked, jerking him off of his feet.

He fell into the desk next to him,sending him and the student sprawling into the floor. The lid of the cage sprung open, slugs sliding everywhere along with their slime.

Harry winced, landing awkwardly on the student and the desk, rolling over and grimacing at the slime that now coated his uniform. This would take forever to get off without magic.

He turned to the student that hadn't moved yet, about to offer them a hand. His hand halted midway, inching back to the floor to push himself up. Great. Fantastic. The Universe was messing with him, it _had _to be.

"…Uh…sorry, I guess, Malfoy."

"Next time you move, Potty, _think_. It shouldn't be too hard to eventually coordinate your legs to move where your thick brain wants you to." Malfoy drawled at him sitting up with no apparent hurry and casually observing the multitude of slugs that were slowly inching along his uniform. "Hmm. What should I do with you?" He murmured to a slug that was on his hand, pointing his wand at it cruelly and watching as it started writhing on his hand, as if oblivious to the watching class.

"_Mr Malfoy!_ Stop whatever spell you're doing and stand up! Mr Potter! You too." Both unwillingly stood up, Malfoy dropping the now dead slug to the floor. Harry watched it sullenly, blinking before turning back to McGonagall. How easily the poor thing had writhed and fought death…to no prevail. How comforting, he thought dryly. Was it a sign? No, just an uncomfortable coincidence.

"Both of you go and get cleaned up. Now, whoever did this will regret it! I will _not_ tolerate childish pranks, _especially_ from the _eighth_ years!"

Harry heard no more as he stormed from the room, trying to breathe evenly but failing dismally at it. It had been one of the Gryffindors, and they were going to pay. He entered the bathroom and hurried to the sink, thrusting his hands under the water and started scrubbing. He needed to scrub away the filth. He couldn't handle it anymore. He wanted to use his _wand_ and _curse_ whoever made him fall. It grated to know that he couldn't even act in retaliation without being hopelessly outmatched. Hell, he couldn't even use his own magic to clean away the _slime_ covering his arms. He was pathetic; nothing more than a Squib. Could you change into a Squib? Or was he classified as a muggle, now?

Harry continued scrubbing his hands, knowing it was gone but he wasn't entering that room again until he had calmed down. He couldn't face Ron or Hermione right now…what could he even say? They probably knew who did it. There was even the possibility it was them, if Ron wasn't as forgiving as Harry had thought.

Harry growled again resting his head on the mirror and breathing heavily. It was Tuesday today. His first diagnosis was tonight, to ensure he wasn't worsening. So, on top of all the homework he was going to get, he would spend the next few hours indefinitely in pain. Sneaking out shouldn't be a problem; he only had to grab the cloak or the map.

"I think you got it, Potty."

Harry threw his eyes open and spun around. Malfoy was leaning on the door, an amused expression flickering across his face. He was immaculate. Not a hair out of place. The bastard.

"Where's all your slime?"

"Tch, I happen to be a wizard, Potty. It's amazing you got into the school. Really, a gift."

Harry growled again, shoving past him to get back to class. He didn't want Malfoy to know just how much his words affected him, but he had just said what Harry had feared for weeks. If he couldn't _use_ his magic, did he still count as a wizard? He still had magic; the only issue was it was trying to kill him now.

Transfiguration was hell, a shadow of a class. Harry waved his wand idly through the class, pretending to be trying to cast the spell. He let his eyes drift again, across to the other side of the room where all the slugs had already been vanished. Zambini and Malfoy were whispering to each other again, barely glancing at their text book before scribbling down the instructions carefully. Malfoy muttered something again, and suddenly both eyes were attached to Harry's, shining with amusement.

It did nothing to improve his temper.

Furiously, he glared down at his slug, wishing he knew the spell Malfoy had used earlier to make it squirm. If he deserved to be miserable, then so did the slug, right?

Charms was as abysmal as Transfiguration.

Defence was a nightmare.

Everyone was able to perform the spells with ease, flying through the revision without blinking. It had improved everyone's disposition, laughing and smiling as they all decided that suddenly, the NEWTs were achievable. Harry kept his head down, taking notes. He didn't practise with the others, instead started on his homework, and had half of it completed before anyone had noticed that he was still at his desk.

Their new teacher didn't mind, in fact, she half heartedly smiled at him. Merlin, the sympathy was worse than being ignored. Ron was happy enough again, the stunt in Transfiguration was enough for him to think Harry had been humiliated enough. Hermione seemed slightly out of sorts though, continuously glancing at Harry. Eventually, the tension became too much for her to bear as she came over, slightly hassled looking. She had completed each of the spells perfectly, and yet she still looked as if she had failed.

"Harry, what are you doing?" She asked, an irritated strain evident in her tone. She seemed to be trying to stay friendly and happy, despite the fraught glances directed to the teacher.

"I'm taking notes." He pretended to smile, ignoring the flash of irritation. "Is there a problem with that?"

"You _should_ be practising the spells. It's the teachers first day, her first class in her first job…and you're already undermining her position by sitting here doing nothing. You're obviously upsetting her, look at the sad glances she keeps sending you." They both looked up just in time to catch one of the infamous glances, the pity screaming from her eyes. Harry quickly glanced back to his work. "I know you can do the spells, so maybe just for her? Everyone looks up to you Harry. You're a role model now." She rolled her eyes at his disgusted expression, quickly speaking over him again. "So, if they see you sitting here, not doing the spells, they very well might copy you."

"Hermione, they're not twelve." Harry frowned, not understanding why he had to point this out to her. "They are perfectly capable at making up their own minds; they're not mindless twats that follow everything I do. Anyway, I know these spells, and quite frankly, I never want to use them again."

Hermione's expression softened, remarkably, at that. She nodded and joined the others, talking softly to Ron so that they both glanced at him sadly. God, this day really was insufferable, wasn't it?

Thankfully he had a double study after lunch, which he spent copying down the notes from Transfiguration quickly. It only took him ten minutes, after which he quickly left the room, ignoring the curious remarks from Ron and Hermione.

He let his feet lead him anywhere, not wanting to go back inside. Slowly, he crossed to the lake, sitting where he had the other day. He numbly watched the cool black waters, blinking his mind blank. Resting his arms around his knees, he sat back, vacant.

He didn't want to think anymore.

.

.

.

Harry squirmed uncomfortable, his face scrunched against the _agony._ He could feel the potion _sliding_ through his body, just under his skin, searching every crevasse of his body. It forced its way through his muscles, despite the pain it brought, lingering cruelly before shoving its way further in. Pomfrey had warning him it would 'smart'.

_Smart._

Not that it would leave him screaming until his throat was bleeding. He must have blanked out for a moment, because one moment _it_ was squirming just past his shoulder, twitching under his blades and inching further and further closer to his chest. The pain was unbearable, beyond anything he had experienced. God, _death_ had been easier to stand than _that_. It had surrounded his heart, squeezing it, stilling it, making it unable to beat, _forcing _it to motionlessness. And god, had that _hurt_.

Harry reached up to rub the wetness from his eyes, shock crossing his face. He hadn't remembered _crying_. Hastily he rubbed it away, a hand curling around the tightness in his stomach instead. _It_ was sliming around, making him feel sick. He wanted to throw up everything he had eaten for lunch, and even then, his squirming stomach wouldn't be sated.

He winced, sitting up a bit more, looking down in shock at his own body. His chest was covered in scratches, bloody marks running over his shirt. Crimson blood seeped into his uniform, and when he lifted up a hand shakily, bloodied fingers stared tauntingly back at him.

"You…uh, well…you got a bit frustrated when you couldn't relieve your chest pain…" Madam Pomfery stuttered, appearing to the left of Harry. He glanced at her, wincing as he took in her blotchy appearance and tear streaked eyes. Her hands were trembling, as she realised Harry was conscious again. "Uh…well, I have to…go and check…are you alright?"

Harry nodded slowly. He didn't even attempt to speak; a groan was unachievable at the moment. He had to watch silently as she hurried away, his throat betraying his bellowing thoughts. _Stay! _Just…_stay! _

The door snapped shut, echoing through the empty hospital wing.

Harry gasped as _it_ slithered into his gut, tossing his hip, and scrambled along the muscle there. Hands grasping the sheets, all he could do was scrunch his eyes shut, and hope it was over soon.

.

.

.

Harry swallowed back the three potions given to him, barely noticing their collaborative pungent tastes. The blue potion, an internal healer. It tasted like rotting fruit, or at least smelt like it. It had made him nauseous when he first began taking it, but now it was simply another aspect of his life that he blatantly ignored. The clear potion, a strong pain reliever; to heal any damage that had been caused during the day, either obvious or not so apparent. It burnt as it dribbled down his throat, seeming to cause more damage than cure. Onto the last…a brown, fetid potion, to be taken twice daily. Magic stabilizing potion. Its taste matched that of polyjuice potion…no, it was worse.

But Harry swallowed it down, the taste or smells barely getting to him now. He had gotten used to them over the summer.

He hadn't decided if that was a good or a bad thing.

.

.

.

Harry blinked slowly, realising that something was wrong but his hazy mind couldn't place _what_ exactly. Everything was blurry, unfocussed. Wait, was someone here?

The distorted outline of someone near his bed finally came into view, snapping, cold words forcing its way through the fuzz.

"_How dare….selfish!...Moping….die!..." _Harry shook his head, trying to think clearly. Who was saying that? And why did it _hurt_ so much? His chest throbbed, aching with a pain he had thought he had forgotten. Loneliness. Why was he so lonely? Another voice cut into his thoughts, deeper, but just as furious and cold as the first.

"_Brother…family…you took…bastard!...Selfish!" Why _couldn't he place the voice? Who _was_ that? Harry blinked slowly, trying to shake his head again but feeling too _heavy _to move it. It was exhausting, and soon he was panting, trying to stop the insistent throbbing.

The figure near the bed moved away, turning in obvious disgust. No. NO! It took Harry every effort to reach out, the simple task just _draining_. He wished he hadn't.

His wrist was thin, the bone protruding through the taunt skin horribly. Heavily bruised and weak, his wrist jutted out uncomfortably, a heavy contrast to the sheer size of his arm. He was heavily emancipated, and yet he couldn't _remember_ _why_…or _who_ was near his bed!

Everything was fuzzy, incoherent. Where was he? Who was here? Why was he there?

Harry panicked, frantically trying to see clearly. The action drained him though, leaving him sinking slowly into the darkness once again…

Harry bolted upright, panting heavily. He swung his head to glance at his wrist, sighing in relief before clutching at his stomach, desperately trying to hold back the wavering sense of nausea. He wasn't dying in the hospital…his friends hadn't left him, disgusted at what he had become. He was still Harry. Still surviving.

Harry angrily pushed the blankets off of him, furious at the fact he had been as weak as to fall asleep after the treatment. He was still here. He was fine. Just fucking fine!

.

.

.

When Harry reached the Great Hall that morning, he paused just inside the door, cautious. Each of the tables was empty, his steps echoing loudly in the empty chamber. Just how early was it? He approached his table, sitting in it comfortably and laying his head on the course surface. He couldn't return to the common room, it would be a waste of his time. And yet, he couldn't really do much down here, could he?

Harry pulled out his wand, about to cast a quick tempest spell, the words on the tip of his tongue…before he realised he wasn't allowed to use magic anymore. Sure, he could use it if he wanted to, but in a deserted hall, at got knows what time in the morning?

Gritting his teeth, he put the wand back down, slamming his hand on the table roughly. He couldn't even cast a _tempest charm?_ How _pathetic_ was he? He couldn't even find out the _time _without endangering himself?

Blinking back the sudden hotness in his face, Harry punched the table again. It was unfair. _Everything_ was unfair. It was unmerited that he had to swallow those blasted potions every morning, that he had to go through that _torture_ every Tuesday night. How about that he couldn't even use _magic_ anymore, without it turning on him randomly, either harming him or trying to kill him?

_And no one seemed to care_.

He had given up his life, sacrificed himself in order to destroy the last horcrux. He had _expected_ to die. How _just_ the world was, lying such as responsibility on a teenager? But he had been prepared. He had walked to that forest, and closed his eyes. He had had no regrets.

Then, suddenly, he was given life again. All the countless possibilities he had never had a chance to consider were suddenly at his door. His potential was limitless. He was suddenly going to turn old, and get married, and become an father. He was going to _live_.

Harry swore to himself, punching the table a third time. Fate sucked.

Just as the epiphany came to him that he _could_ have a life, it was taken away again.

"Hey," The Universe was shouting at him, "You've done your job; we have no more use for you. Hurry up and disappear." And disappear he would. Never to grow old, and own a house he had bought with his own hard earned money. Never to buy a large black mutt that reminded him of Sirius to cheer him up on rainy days. Never to marry Ginny. Never to see Lilly's eyes repeated once more in his daughter or his son. And those were just his long term goals.

Harry growled to himself, laying his head in his hands as he waited for the castle to wake up.

Life wasn't fair. It would never be fair. A sickness would do what Voldemort never could. Tch, Voldy should have just waited for another month, and then he would have had a clear path to the top. But the man had had no patience, and neither did the Universe, apparently.

Harry blinked as the door opened, the first of the Slytherins entering the hall. They glanced at him, curious, but did nothing else. They all had kept their distance lately, feeling ashamed or guilty. Probably just because their stubborn pride had been hurt. Either way, it was only a matter of time before the slippery house soon got over their meekness, and remembered who they really were. He was looking forwards to that day; a semblance of normalcy would be nice. Welcomed, in fact.

Harry winced as another injustice entered his brain. He would never be allowed to duel with the Slytherins again. And no one would willingly duel with him, handicapped as he was. Another aspect of life that the stupid Universe thought it has a right to take.

It wouldn't be the last time Harry thought it.

_Life. Sucked. _

.

.

.

"'ey ant 'oo eet'n?" Ron asked several hours' later, mouth full of bacon and eggs. Harry watched him stack his plate high, eating as if he hadn't for weeks. He had arrived with Hermione, both of them holding hands and acting like the couple of the year. Harry never thought they would fall like that, but, there you are. The giggling and whispered conversations were occurring even through breakfast now, as if oblivious to the wolf calls and whistles that occurred through their peers as soon as they did it.

"I speak paseltongue, Ron, not troll." Hermione pulled away from his ear, an amused grin on her face as she winked at Ron.

"Honestly Ronald, it's not that…attractive." Ron immediately swallowed the entire mouthful, grinning sheepishly. He looked at Hermione as if she were his sun, as if all the happiness in his life came directly from her simply _looking_ in his direction. Harry knew he was supposed to be supportive, but when he glanced over and saw Ginny eating down the table, he couldn't help but shift with anger. The jealously that spread through his stomach was becoming a normal occurrence now.

"Harry, why aren't you eating?" He repeated, glancing at Harry's relatively full plate. "You were here before us, weren't you?"

"…Nothing, I feel slightly sick."

He pushed his plate towards Ron, a small gesture to continue eating. Ron seemed to accept his answer as acceptable and kept eating, but Hermione frowned.

"Are you coming down with something? You _do_ look a little pale."

"Just a little tired."

And apparently, that was acceptable enough for her too. Twelve words each, and they were done with morning conversation. Hermione nodded, turning to murmur something to Ron, beaming as she did. Ron turned a bright red and started chocking on his food, staring at Hermione as if he had never seen her before and a large, goofy grin making its way across his face.

Harry sighed, watching the display without amusement. There was once a time when such feeble remarks would have them on his back for days at a time until he gave them a satisfying, truthful answer. Those times were evidently past.

Harry stared around the hall, taking in all the happy faces. They were laughing and joking around, or fighting. They all _felt_, still. Lately, anger was the only emotion Harry allowed to surface.

His gaze landed on Malfoy again, who, as if he felt the gaze immediately, glanced up and smirked. Bloody Malfoy. He had almost made Harry lose Ron due to that ridiculous fight. Harry glared, ignoring the smirk. Then, Malfoy did the game gesture he did the other day.

Harry raised his eyebrows at that, and stood. He knew the others didn't see him leave, which was exactly the point he was trying to make. He didn't _belong_ to anyone, and _no one _was wrapped around _anybody's _fingers!

As Harry reached the doors, he turned back around, a fake grin plastered to his face. He bowed in Malfoy's direction, ignoring the fact whispers broke out fairly quickly. The door echoed shut behind him, leaving Harry not exactly happy but…content was a better word. It was nice that he could still best Malfoy in some things.

He had made his point quite vividly. The bow…he didn't know why he did that, but it didn't matter.

_Malfoy _didn't matter.

As soon as he reached the entrance hall, however, instead of the silence he was seeking, furious shrieks rose up to meet him. He glanced up to see Romilda Vane laughing with a few of her friends, obviously at the Slytherin girl at the bottom of the stairs. The girl was actually quite pretty, if she hadn't black smudges under her eyes due to the excessive crying. And did she have a _voice_ on her. She _shrieked_ up at the Gryffindors, face glistening, her wand disregarded on the floor next to her.

Harry rolled his eyes, not about to get involved with random girl drama. He had enough of drama in his own life he was steadily, but not very successfully, ignoring.

Harry started across the hall, hesitating in where exactly to go. If he went up the stairs, he would be in the crossfire between the girls, definitely something he didn't want to participate in. The only other direction was the dungeons, and incredibly, he would prefer to accidently get hexed by a couple of hysterical girls then venture down there in a hurry.

The Slytherin seemed to have had enough. She stamped her foot, and clenched her fists tightly, wondering what to do. Harry expected her to turn around and head back to the dudgeons or a bathroom. He _didn't _expect her to claw out some deeply buried valour residue, and _charge_ up the stairs towards the Gryffindors. Who, also unexpected, just laughed harder at her attempts to reach up to the same level as them. The incisive shrieking still echoed throughout the hall, each girl savagely trying to out-do the other. Merlin, girls were brutal.

Harry, who was heading across the floor by now, glanced up towards the girls, mildly interested in how this was panning out. Slytherins were supposed to be sly, but cowards. They never faced a pack of Gryffindors head on, alone.

It was lucky for them all that Harry's curiosity was piqued.

Just as he peeked at them, he noticed Romilda with her wand out. Still grinning, she pointed it at the girl, who happened to be halfway up the stairs. She tripped.

Harry could count every second.

One.

The girl's look of surprise hadn't even the time to transform into terror as she slipped backwards, towards the ground a story below. She didn't even have her wand, leaving it abandoned in the hall. Her eyes widened incredibly slowly.

Two.

Romilda's smug look hesitated a moment, caught between happiness and worry. Too late to take back the action, the grin didn't slip off of her face. Her eyes widened however, troubled.

Three.

The same time a scream erupted in the Hall, Harry had whipped out his wand and bellowed, hoping it might snap onto _anything_.

"WINGARDIUM LEVIOSA!"

For a terrible moment, Harry thought his spell had done nothing, that his magic was now nonexistent. However, the small girl stopped falling, her clothing obviously the object trapped by the spell. She started flailing about, visibly panicked about being levitated several floors up. Harry slowly lowered her to the ground, his heart thumping loudly in his chest.

Was anything going to happen? He waited, licking his lips anxiously, but after a few moments of being pain free, he breathed relief. His magic hadn't reacted. His magic hadn't hurt him!

The small Slytherin reached the ground softly, immediately being pulled to her feet by another. Harry barely paid attention to the insults Pansy was throwing his way.

"_What the FUCK do you think you were doing?!"_ Never had he been this angry. Not when he found out he had this _thing_ invading his body, not when he found out he had to die again, not when he was being berated for nothing by his uncle. Not when he had destroyed Dumbledore's office. He was _livid_. Fury swelled in his stomach, forcing his legs to move. He barely knew he _had_ moved, until he was meters away from Romilda.

"Calm down, Harry, it was just a bit of-"

"If you end that sentence with 'fun', so help you!" He bellowed, grabbing her shoulder and shoving her against the wall roughly, not caring in the slightest about the small whimper. "_How dare you? HOW DARE YOU? YOU COULD HAVE KILLED HER!" _He snarled, not believing his eyes. This was a _Gryffindor_, for god's sake! He _expected_ this from Slytherin, not one of _his_ house!

"It...It didn't hurt-"

"_And what if I hadn't been here? Then what?!" _Harry couldn't believe his eyes. This was a girl he _knew_, one that he _trusted, _albeit a few love potions mishaps. "You like pushing people down the stairs? You think it's _fun_, do you?"

Harry had had enough. He grabbed Romilda roughly from the arm, shoving her towards the staircase,  
watching as her eyes went wide with fear. Oh, so _she_ didn't want to fall down, did she?

"You look afraid. Are you afraid of death?" Harry continued, snarling as her eyes snapped back to him. "_Well, so is she. No one deserves to die. NO ONE! WHO ARE YOU TO PASS OUT JUDGEMENT? WHO ARE YOU TO SAY WHO LIVES AND WHO DIES?" _

The girl was shaking in fear, desperately grabbing onto Harry's shirt in the hope he didn't shove her. Disgusted that she would touch him, Harry pushed her away from him, away from the edge of the staircase. Harry blinked away the stinging in his eyes, brushing away the sudden wetness. How odd.

Swallowing tightly, Harry glance around, at the terrified Romilda and co, who were trembling and crying a few meters away. Downstairs, at the upset girl, still crying, and Pansy Parkinson, who was watching him with a guarded expression, suspiciously close to fear. The doors of the Great Hall were open, curious heads poking out.

Harry ran.

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.

.

For the second time in that week, Harry entered the Potions classroom feeling distinctively out of place. He hadn't thought he was that late, but as soon as he entered every eye was on him. This time, it wasn't just the Slytherins that glared angrily at him though. The Gryffindors followed each step furiously, their eyes blazing in anger. Harry sought out Ron and Hermione, but both were in a deep discussion already, blatantly not looking at Harry.

So, that's how it was going to be, was it?

Harry sighed, gritting his teeth as to not grimace and walked over to Goyle, sitting on his stool sullenly, glaring at the cauldron. He wanted today to be over with as quickly as possible.

Goyle again stood up and went to get the ingredients, leaving Harry alone at his table. They were making an advanced sleeping potion today, one that would render the drinker unconscious for days at a time, without dreams. Or nightmares, Harry thought sadly, wishing they would be sampling this particular potion. He didn't really mind if he was asleep for days at a time, it was less time for his body to betray him, wasn't it?

Harry glanced up in surprise as a small paper aeroplane landed on his desk, obviously meant for him. Glancing around, he caught all the Slytherins staring at him blatantly, but none of the Gryffindors. Couldn't any of them grow up?

Harry unfolded the note quickly, glancing at it and immediately wishing he hadn't. His fading annoyance refuelled.

_Why did you try to push Romilda down the stairs? _

Furious, Harry scrunched the paper up and tossing it aside on his desk, wanting desperately to set fire to it. One spell wouldn't hurt. It hadn't hurt him this morning, did it? One small incendio…

Goyle returned to the table, shoving several ingredients towards Harry and started to hack into his own. Wincing, Harry followed his example, working in silence. Occasionally the hulk replica would turn to glare at Harry, as if challenging him to say something, but Harry had had enough. He worked in silence, refusing to meet his gaze or taunts. Even when he muttered under his breath about 'blood-traitors' and 'mudbloods', Harry kept silent.

Then, another paper plane landed in front of him.

Harry glanced up again, not fighting to keep his expression calm, before reading the note.

_Why did you try to push Romilda down the stairs? _

The font was larger this time, more insistent. It seemed more like Hermione lecturing him, then Ron trying to find out information. Again, Harry scrunched it up and tossed it aside. He took his toad spleen and tossed it savagely into the potion, ignoring the heated glare Goyle sent his way again.

Just do the potion. Just do the potion.

Harry started up a mantra in his head, ignoring the glares and now muttering that was filling the room. Every eye was glued to his back, as if he contained all the answers in this fucked up joke of a universe. Feeling his face heat up again, Harry ignored them, instead getting a knife and hacking up his mandrake root.

Just do the potion. Just do the-

"What do you _want?"_ He snapped at the other side of the room as yet _another_ plane landed in front of him. He scrunched it into his hand, not even opening this one. The room went quiet immediately, their thick teacher finally paying attention to the distraught Harry.

"Harry, my boy, do you have anything to say?"

Harry turned his cool stare to him instead. Yeah, learn how to control your class! He thought savagely, before shaking his head and turning back to his burning potion. He threw the note onto the table again, staring at the potion quite viciously. If he added another spleen to it, would it explode? Then the class would be cancelled, or he would be sent to hospital…no, he didn't want to go there again. Madam Pomfrey could barely look at him when he woke that morning. He didn't want to be subjected to the same _pity_ that all the teachers wore when staring at Harry…

"One would think," Harry snapped his eyes up to Malfoy as he drawled, welcoming the slight distraction no matter how _mocking_ it was going to be, "that maybe they want an _answer_ to the insistent notes?" He reached over, uncurling the last one and flipped through it, eyebrows rising. "It seems that they are only _just_ discovering your temper, Potty. How you managed to keep it from them all these years is beyond me." He trailed off, frowning at the lack of response within Harry.

Harry just stared at Malfoy until he became confused enough to turn back to the front. Round 3 goes to Harry. That thought almost had him smiling. Almost. However, it seemed Malfoy was not deterred for long.

"You know, Pansy told me you helped Daphne today. I wasn't inclined to believe her, but the Gryffindorks seem to loathe you for an entirely _new_ reason this time. They really should expect it by now, with your hero complex."

"Why are you talking to me?" That had Malfoy_,_ smirking again, who chuckled for a moment before answering. Honestly, he always dragged everything out into something complicated.

"I'm simply wondering whether you did it because it was the _right thing to do._" He scoffed at that, as if he didn't believe in it at all, "Slytherin has a bet going, you see. I don't want to lose fifty gallons."

"I like you a hell of a lot more when you _don't_ talk."

"Pity. Well?"

"Shove off, Malfoy." Harry sat at his desk, waiting for the end class and hoping desperately it was coming soon. Goyle looked angry enough to threaten him with the knife again, the Gryffindors looked livid with him, and the Slytherins as if he was a ticking time bomb. And _then_, Slughorn kept _smiling_ at him. Reassuringly.

…_Were_ they allowed to sample the potion?

The lunch bell came and went. Harry remained in his chair determined not to go eat. He was going to be bombarded, and for the moment, actually found the cool, damp texture of the dungeon relaxing. It was a hell of a lot more quiet than the rest of the school. It would be perfect to sit down here, and fade away into nothingness again.

But then younger students began filling the chairs, and Harry had to vacate his new hiding spot, replacing it with Transfiguration. Great.

To say McGonagall was in a temper when Harry arrived would be an understatement. She turned her glare on him, and suddenly he felt like he was twelve again, in a uniform too big for him and glasses bound by sticky tape. Wow. If only he could go back to when he was twelve…that would give him another six years to live his life, this time Voldemort free.

Harry almost wanted her to glare at him again.

"…Harry, what's going on?" Hermione whispered as soon as he had sat down. He hadn't even time to swing his legs under the desk. "Romilda came crying into the hall this morning, after we all heard yelling."

"Nothing happened."

"Harry, we all know that's-"

"_Nothing happened_!"

"Mr Potter! Do you have something you wish to share with the class?" Harry glanced up at McGonagall, shaking his head slightly. He had plenty to say, just not with the class. "No? How about you tell the class what we're learning today then?"

"…Multicorfors…it allows you to change the colours of your body."

"Well done, Mr Potter – it seems you've not wasted your education after all on idle gossip. Even though you still cannot do a simple _vanishing_ charm properly."

Harry stared at her blankly as she patronized him, gritting his teeth. _She knew_ that he couldn't practise magic. She had _ordered _him to keep it at a minimum.

Usually, he would let the comment slide. But not today. Not after he had been ignored by Pomfrey, ignored by Ron and Hermione, treated like a felon for stopping someone killing another in the name of 'good fun', and been constantly provoked in potions. Now, _now,_ they were going to patronise him?

Without a word, Harry stood up and went to the cupboard, ignoring McGonagall's command that he sit back down immediately. What could she do? Put him in detention? Expel him? Both options just made him snicker.

He quickly found the cage of slugs, pulling one out on his extended hand. Still, without a word, he brushed his wand against it. The slug disappeared. He pulled out another. The slug disappeared. Another. The slug disappeared. Three times he did it nonverbally. Half the class still couldn't do a simple charm without having to whisper the incarnation.

McGonagall's glare withered into narrow slits.

"_You're pushing it, Potter."_

Hmm. He had done magic four times today, and nothing had happened. What was he worrying about that morning with the tempest charm? Nothing bad was going to happen. Had he been overreacting all this time? Had the Healers? Did they tell him no magic as a precaution, not a command?

A feeling almost like happiness had Harry smirking, putting the slugs away and returning to his seat. He _wasn't _going to be patronised, and he had just silenced McGonagall. Perhaps today was a good day after all.

As the class started practising their spells, Harry was being lectured twice at the same time. Hermione was hissing in his ear, like an angry cat, about disrespect towards the Headmaster and blatant revolt notions. When she was finally finished, she huffed angrily, tossing her hair behind her shoulder. "Just hurry it up and try to change your nail colour like we're supposed to."

Harry glanced up at his second lecturer, who was glaring at him through her spectacles quite blatantly, ignoring the rest of the class. Her glare didn't need a voice.

_Do not dare to use that spell_.

Harry felt quite giddy, actually. Not happy, no, he hadn't been happy in a while. But almost as if _becoming _happy was suddenly reachable. Four spells, and not one mishap. Maybe the healers _had_ been overreacting. Nothing that bad had happened to him yet. Or maybe, the potions were working. Maybe they were actually going to cure him of this _thing_ in his body.

Harry hesitated still, staring at his nails. Should he do it?

After a moment, he determinedly waved his wand, muttering the incarnation and waited, holding his breath. He watched in amazement as his nails turned a rich black. Dissimilar to nail polish, the tips of his fingers turned a translucent black mimicking a shadow. And nothing had happened.

Harry almost grinned, relief spreading through his body, through his arms, to his hand, back up to his…arm? That wasn't relief.

Harry swallowed tightly, turning his arm carefully. He thought it was relief, but it seemed more…potent than that. Not an emotion, but a physical _thing_…almost like he could feel his magic. It had an oppressive, cruel sentiment about it, taunting him. Harry winced in horror.

It reached part of his forearm, then _grew_. The feeling expanded in the one area, growing tenser and tighter, as if it were _squeezing _him from the inside, until-

_CRACK! _

Harry let out a small shriek before clamping his teeth down on his already abused lips, stilling the sound. He refused to glance down at his arm, instead made his hand cradle it. It _hurt_, a continuous burning and throbbing. Shakily, he felt his arm tenderly, hissing as he felt a bit of his bone cutting across the skin.

Horrified, Harry dropped his wand, repulsed. His magic was tainted, impure…it was _trying_ to kill him now, trying to hurt him…and it was succeeding.

McGonagall quickly dismissed the class, racing towards Harry and his broken arm. She took points off immediately after she heard the whisper 'karma', her own anger growing. She had seen the hesitation in Harry's face, the desperation in hoping the spell would turn out alright, and the near _joy_ that radiated in his eyes when he thought it had worked. Then, the bone in his left arm had snapped, right through his skin.

Merlin, she hoped that Potter would survive this. A desperate, hopeless thought but one that became her mantra as she levitated him to the hospital wing. She didn't know she was whispering it aloud.

Or that at each echo, Harry's pain strengthened, cruelly radiating through his chest. If even McGonagall had no hope, what was _he_ supposed to do?

.

.

.

Harry blinked up at the ceiling again, clenching his teeth in anger. He turned to stare at his arm, almost as if it wasn't his anymore. It didn't _feel_ like his anymore…it felt as if it had been taken, mutilated by a stranger and sewn back on.

He knew it was his magic that did it, he knew that it was out of control…but he still thought he would have a semblance of direction. Like if he felt it _emerging_, the word he used to describe it to Pomfrey, he would be able to channel it into magic _he_ wanted…but no. No matter how hard he tried to steady his magic, to send it out through his wand…it had resided in his arm, tensing until it snapped his bone, right in half.

What type of wizard was he, if he couldn't even control his _magic_? Harry thought desperately, turning away from his mending arm. However, this brought his wand into sight. It had betrayed him too. What was the use of having it now? It could defeat Voldemort, it could match his wand in strength…but it couldn't channel Harry's magic anymore? He needed a toy wand, that he could wave about and mutter incarnations without anyone noticing. Then they'd just think him pathetic as a wizard, instead of a squib.

Harry turned back to the ceiling. It was a fading white colour, a cream appearing underneath it. Honestly, didn't they have enough money to repaint the ceiling? Dark colours, blacks or navy blues…colours that represented the Hospital Wing's reoccurring patient's moods?

Harry glanced over as the door swung open, hoping maybe it was Ron or Hermione coming to visit him. However, regrettably, it was Malfoy who had entered.

The blonde didn't even glance at Harry, who took this as another chance to glare holes into the ceiling. How many people look up, who aren't in the beds? Maybe Harry should write something on the ceiling, if just to experiment how many people would tell the patron? He could write a message, just for the patients of the Hospital Wing, telling them specifically not to tell, or something. How long until any of the teachers notice?

But…how would Harry get up, without the use of magic? The _world_, _his world_, revolved around magic. In hospital it was fine, because he just sat there all day while getting treatment or doing tests. He read, did his homework…it was like being over the summer. At Hogwarts, you needed magic just to get through the common room, with people pulling jinxes or pranks on each other. He was crazy to think he could come back here.

Harry glanced over at Malfoy again, who was watching Pomfrey fill a case with several flasks. There was no way in being able to tell what they were, but Harry's interest was piqued. Especially as Malfoy seemed a bit anxious to be getting whatever they were.

Harry watched the strange transaction, then how Pomfery promptly left again, to lock herself in her office. Usually so very strict with the care of her patients, she seemed to be avoiding Harry. Oh, well. He kind of understood why, even though it did nothing to improve his temper.

Wait, why was Malfoy walking over to him?

Harry watched sullenly as Malfoy approached his bed, like one would a savage dog. He cocked his head to the side, considering, then shook his head slightly. This was going to be bearable.

"…Hullo, Potty." Wow, the first words were an insult. Expected, but irritating nonetheless.

Harry stared back at him blankly, wondering about this weird turn of events. "Hello."

"How did you break your arm?"

"…You were in the room. You saw." What was even stranger about this conversation, Harry realised suddenly, was not the fact it was Malfoy and they were speaking civilly. No, it was the fact that he had talked to Malfoy more than he had Ron or Hermione combined this term, so far. And, they had fought less too. He was actually on better terms with Malfoy, than his two best friends, in this sense.

"No, I saw you change your nails. Then you waited for a few seconds. _Then _your arm broke."

"…So? It took awhile for me to realise it was broken. Shock, or something."

Harry swallowed at the frown on Malfoy's face, not wanting to admit intimidation but, in contrary, feeling bloody anxious at being scrutinized. Mafloy seemed…confused. Not at all like his usual, pratty, self-absorbed, vain gitty self.

"…Why don't you smile anymore?"

A minute passed in silence.

Two.

His chest clenched uncomfortably, stabbing him with the recently familiar pain again. He struggled to draw breath.

His face stayed blank; he had had plenty of practise.

Slowly his feet swung from the bed. Slowly he crossed to the door.

Without a sound the door swung open.

Following no conscious thought, Harry allowed his feet to hurry through the empty castle.

It wasn't until Harry managed to blink that he realised he was at the edge of the lake. His knees trembled, and then gave way completely, allowing his body to fall heavily to the ground.

He ignored the hotness in his face, the fact he could feel warm water trickling down his face.

…

Nothing was supposed the change


	3. The Wrong Side

I do not own anything here, nor am I making a profit from this. It is purely to pass my time, and hopefully, interest other people. J.K. Rowling owns Harry Potter, not me.

A big big thank you to violetkitty02, Petrichor-3, ParanormalMoonlight, Agent L, Icy eyed Angel, Angel-Miyu, Allyieh, xSaffire55x, VampQhuinn, MDarKspIrIt, and SevLoverKat for the reviews!

Ps - I'm sorry for the cliffhanger for this chapter :)

**Chapter Three - The Wrong Side**

Draco had never considered himself a cruel person.

He couldn't deny the fact that he had had his fair share of taunting over the years, that he had been the reason that several first years burst into tears. He knew that whenever the mudbloods and blood-traitors of the school were furious or terrified, that it was almost certainly because of some plan he had concocted. And he knew that he, solely, could effectively control every single Slytherin's actions to suit his very whim; be it to mock, insult, or ridicule other students. It wasn't malicious, it was control.

And anyhow, they all brought it on themselves.

If someone slandered the Malfoy name, they were ostracized. If they belittled him, they were punished. And if they, Salazar forbid, think themselves _better _than him, they had better hope that Draco didn't come after them himself, for they would leave that fight a testicle short and the unfortunate (or fortunate, in Draco's opinion) lack of ability to procreate.

No, he had never felt particularly cruel.

But as Draco stood by the hospital wing window, watching a numb Potter collapse by the edge of the lake, sobbing hysterically, he unconditionally believed himself the cruellest bastard to live.

.

.

.

Harry stared at his clock blankly, wanting nothing more than to just curl up in his blankets again and ignore the fact that he had class to attend. He was tired, and sore, and just healed…and there was nothing to do in class anyway except watch his peers jealously and curse his own existence. There was no real reason to attend. After the mishap in Transfiguration, Harry would happily pack his bags and run for the next train. What was the point? If _that_ was going to happen, he would will it to snap his neck instead of his arm.

The fact remained, he was nothing better than a squib now; there was, for the first time in his life, nothing at Hogwarts for Harry. Or, that was what he repeated as a mantra inside his head.

_That_ was the reason for his hiding. Definitely not the fact he didn't want to face the unnaturally observant blonde git from hell, who unsurprisingly, shared most of his classes.

Double Defence. Transfiguration. Charms. Study. Five of his six classes today were spent with the insufferable, attentive little twat. _Five of them._ God, it would be better to reapproach Romilda and threaten her with every Gryffindor present; that way, at least, he would survive with his dignity intact.

Slowly, the clock ticked down. He only had five minutes until Transfiguration. McGonagall would protect him there, wouldn't she?

Knowing his brain and sense of useless guilt was against him, Harry swung out of bed slowly and gathered his equipment for class. At least in that class, he was seated away from the slimy backstabbers…and closer to the traitors in red.

Why hadn't any of them checked up on him? After a few hours Harry had gotten stiff from the cold and ventured back inside. The common room had been empty. Everyone had been asleep. Not a single person had checked on Harry in the hospital wing, or, it seemed, been even inclined to worry. Now his job was done, no one cared.

Even Ron and Hermione hadn't checked on him. Neither had woken him this morning either. Sure, they were in a tiff yesterday, but hadn't they calmed down after he had been hurt? Even seeing their friend in obvious pain, they hadn't quelled their anger towards him?

_Was _this _what Harry came back to Hogwarts for?_

Slowly his feet took him through the castle, they too not willing participants of the day. They wanted to drag Harry back to the comfort of his bed, where it didn't matter if he was angry or upset or hurt; once you were asleep, in either dreams or the reoccurring nightmares, you weren't dy…ill. The bed never snapped at Harry either.

He had reached the door all too soon for his liking. Knowing he was late anyway, he sighed again before pushing open the door, blatantly not meeting anyone's gaze. His feet shuffled forwards hesitantly, taking him to a deserted seat at the very back of the room. Alone. Isolated. Apparently where Harry belonged.

Wait, wasn't that a good thing? If everyone was angry at him…he couldn't hurt them, could he? If this _thing_ gained control and destroyed his body…no one would mind. There would be no regrets over joining a war to save a boy already dying. There would be no tears, no more people that decided enough loss was enough…everyone would be fine, as long as Harry kept his distance from them.

_How lonely._

"…Mr Potter…you will take the notes for yesterday. Do not attempt this spell." Like he needed to be reminded. Harry watched sullenly as his peers began changing their nail colour, before moving on to their eyebrows and hair. He only watched the Gryffindors. He would be bloody damned before he glanced at the green side of the room.

Despite fact that Harry felt someone staring at him throughout the lesson, he had managed to keep his head down and not glare at anyone except his unfortunate quill. Thank god that the class had ended rather quickly, his 'friends' and classmates groaning as they copied the homework and scurried for the exit. Harry's had already been completed.

Groaning inwardly, Harry hesitantly approached McGonagall's desk, waiting until the door had finally snapped shut before turning to stare at her hands. After yesterday, he couldn't meet her eyes. Not after the hopeless pleading she had done, not after she had shown him the weak side of her…even in the bloody _headmistress_, there was no stability to be found at Hogwarts. How comforting.

"I need a fake wand." Harry said to a particular pretty quill on the desk, "They'll notice if I don't try. With a fake wand, at least I look only incompetent."

"…Harry-" _God_, even her _voice_ was laced with sympathy; sympathy that she had no given right to offer! _She _wasn't the one with this _thing_ invading her body!

"_I just need a fake wand_." Harry drudged out, his stare turning to a glare as the quill mocked him. A bloody _quill_ would live longer than he would.

He barely restrained rolling his eyes as McGonagall sighed heavily, swishing her wand to provide Harry with a replica. He slowly put his own wand away, and instead picked up the copy. It was a hollow mimic of his original, without the residue of any magic at all. Perfect.

Charms was actually interesting, now that Harry could pretend to be trying. He waved his 'wand' around perfectly, muttered incarnations with _just_ the right amount of frustration, and tried not to seem too amused by Flitwicks nervous expression every time he tried out the spell. Perhaps this day _was_ looking up after all. Of course, none of _his_ paper folded into miniature animals to leap across the room, but it was interesting nevertheless. Especially Malfoy's dragon, which even had paper flame when it opened its mouth. It would have been more impressive if Hermione had managed to create it instead, though.

Maybe it was his complete inability to cast a simple spell that had Hermione approach him after dinner. Some sort of vicious kick-the inept-when-they're-down tactic.

Harry glanced up completely surprised as Hermione pulled up a chair at his table at the library, pulling out a book and reading it as if this was nothing strange at all. She didn't even glance at him as she read the novel, occasionally flipping a page or nodding to herself.

Only when Harry went back to his Defence essay did she speak, in a tone as if she were scolding a child lightly. "You know, I think this fight has gone on quite far enough."

"You're telling me." Harry muttered, rolling his eyes as she flicked the next page quite savagely.

"Harry, you _know_ that Ron is just angry right now, and that he doesn't hold a grudge." Yes, yes he bloody well does! "But try to look at it from his point of view. We haven't seen you the entire holiday, months even. As soon as the last battle was over, you disappeared. You even missed Fred's funeral."

"But that wasn't-"

"I know it wasn't your intention, Harry, but we couldn't even find you to tell you when it was. Everyone expected you there, hell, we _needed_ you there…and you weren't. And then, you're almost completely silent on the train. And _then_, you go straight to bed after the opening feast. _And then_, you don't talk to us nearly as often as you used to. You either 'um' or 'yeah' or nod you head, no actual sentences. It _hurts_, Harry. We're your friends; we need you to at least _acknowledge_ our existence."

Harry swallowed tightly, clenching his grip on the quill. She was joking, right? Did she _want_ him to curse everyone within a ten meter radius, or did she find it fun to push all the wrong buttons?

"This summer was especially hard on Ron, Harry. He _needs_ his best friend, now more than ever. And, then to see you fraternizing with the _Slytherins_ of all people-"

"That was not my fault!" Harry jerked around to stare at Hermione, his anger only growing as she only continued her façade of reading her stupid bloody book. Growling, Harry ripped it from her grip and literally threw it to the other side of the room. "Bloody _look_ at me at least! No one left me any seats, the only ones left was-"

"I _know_ that Harry!" Hermione finally snapped back, slamming her hand on the table. "But Ron doesn't! He's jealous, Harry, like he's always been of you! He doesn't want to lose his best friend, and all he sees is how further you're drifting away!"

Ouch.

Harry blinked, swallowing tightly as Hermione continued cruelly, successfully finding something that had connected with Harry, if not for the reasons she thought.

"Ron is _terrified_ of losing you Harry! He's already lost one brother, and he sees you as one too! Don't let him lose another brother! It'll destroy him! And you, who know Ron best, should know perfectly well that he isn't the most articulate person, and when he gets jealous, he tends to push away those close to him! Just give him another chance, Harry! Be his brother!"

Harry could only nod hopelessly, clenching his nails into his palms as if to stop the stinging in his eyes. And there was the brunt of it. He _was_ going to leave…and Ron would be completely lost and devastated by it. Another life he had effectively destroyed, without lifting a fucking finger.

"…thank you, Harry." Hermione suddenly lunged at Harry, sniffling as she buried her face in his neck. "Come on, come out of hiding and join us in the dorm."

"…No…I have too much homework to do as it is…I'll meet up with you later…promise."

Harry watched impassively as his friend left the room, a new bounce to her step, as if all her worries had suddenly been taken care of, as if she had no fucking care in the world-

Harry growled savagely, tossing his table away from him and barely noticing it as it flipped through the air, books and papers being flung about the room. He had returned to Hogwarts …for this?

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.

.

The next few days past in a blur for Harry. Wake up at six and hide near the lake. Go to breakfast, but eat nothing. Classes. Take potion. More classes. Pretend to be pathetic at magic. Listen to the jokes, make believe that you're smiling, fail a bit more. Pretend to eat dinner. Engage in drivel games with Ron and Hermione. Pretend to go to bed early. Sneak to hospital wing at midnight, take more potions. Sneak back to common room. Have nightmares. Wake up at six.

It was getting harder and harder to get up each morning, with the same continuous, tiring routine hissing around him as soon as he jerked awake. God, the nightmares were worse than they had been before.

Dreams about Voldemort making inferi from Fred, Lupin, Sirius, Lavander, Colin… people being tortured, somewhere, and only their screams being rebounded through Harry's head… Dreams about Harry sitting alone in the hospital bed, his eyes sunken and dead, his breathing small gasps…his wand lying just out of his reach. He would reach for it, plead for it, _try_ to do magic just so it would hopefully kill him this time… trying to rip out the oxygen machine to let himself simply suffocate, but his arms were too frail, without muscle, too weak to pull out a simple cord…pleading with Ron to simply _kill him_, but his friend would laugh instead, shaking his head moodily. "You're my brother. I won't lose you." Dreams about finally reaching the knife and plunging it into his chest…for it to be healed a moment later by a monster in a lime-green uniform…

And Harry would wake up, trembling, sweating, bringing his hands to feel his face, to ensure he wasn't that hollow shell of a being that this _thing_ was trying to make him out to be. No, he would never be _that_. He was Harry Potter; saviour, hero…tired.

.

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.

As soon as Harry entered the hospital wing, he was bombarded by enraged shrieking. It did nothing to improve his growing temper, or current headache.

"_Foolish boy! _I was told you practised in both charms _and_ defence today? Didn't I _warn_ you about doing that? Who cares if you can make a teapot dance, if you snap your neck while doing so?!" Wow. She was _furious_ today. "In your condition, you shouldn't be doing _any_ magic!"

Sure, he had tried in class. The fake wand was working, however. "I'm not falling behind, especially like this. I returned to _pass_ my NEWTS_, not _watch everyone else pass them."

Pomfrey just tutted at him, shaking her head and thrusting his potions towards him, forcing him to sit on his usual bed. "The sidelines are _exactly_ what you need, Mr Potter! Do you even comprehend how serious this is? You need a guardian that won't tolerate your lack of interest towards your own life! Exam's can be redone, when you're _healthier _to do them!"

"…I make my own decisions now, thanks. I'm overage, and I intend on passing my exams. This year." Harry said quietly, hoping she would drop the subject and yet knowing that once riddled up, she would continue for hours. Do them when he was healthier? No use prolonging the inevitable.

"Gryffindors have _too much_ courage in my opinion; _you_ demonstrate nothing but pure idiocy! You don't mind waking _me_ up in the middle of the night to get your potions, but you won't do as you're told! I would rather you be a Hufflepuff right now, with nothing but respect, and a healthy dose of _fear!_" She snapped. "Drink your potions. Now."

Harry nodded, used to this nightly lecture by now. She wasn't usually as angry as she was tonight, but at least when she was angry she wasn't crying or avoiding his eyes. Harry tipped the first potion back, and froze.

Someone was occupying the bed opposite him. Awake.

The slightly glowing eyes blinked at him.

Harry swallowed the potion, picking up the next and hastily running through every possible situation. How much had they heard? How much had they guessed? Bloody hell, Harry and Pomfrey had almost had a shouting match over Harry's health!

The eyes blinked again.

"Wait for another ten minutes for them to settle, and you can make your way back. Are you taking the Stabilizer around midday? Yes? Good. I'll see you tomorrow, Mr Potter." Fan-fucking-tastic. If they didn't guess who it was before, now they defiantly knew.

Harry stared back at the eyes, making up his mind. He needed to know who it was, and to tell them to keep his secret. He shuddered to think what would happen if they didn't…the entire school would know he was sick twenty minutes after the kid left the hospital.

Determined, Harry swung his feet over the bed, intending to head over to the student and _beg_ them not to say a word, when a cool drawl stopped him.

"Don't even think it, Potty. Another step and you'll be cursed."

…

_Fuck! _

"…Sure." How he managed to keep his voice relatively calm, Harry didn't know. Only that it felt as if it was about to curl up and suffocate him the next time he spoke. And hell, Harry would even let it. "What are you doing listening in on conversations, Malfoy? I thought you grew out of that _at least_ five years ago." Why the hell was he antagonising him?

"I'm mending." Came the cold reply. "I would suggest you're here to gloat with the other pathetic Gryffindor's apparent prowess at injuring me, but from what I just heard, I doubt it. Sound to me like you're sick, Potter."

The confusion Harry had felt at hearing his friends had apparently attacked Malfoy vanished as soon as the Blonde Git had finished the sentence. He probably deserved it anyway. "Good inferring; it's really amazing what you can come up with. Someone in the hospital at night taking a simple pain reliever. I'm astonished you're not in Ravenclaw." Did he know how dry Harry's throat was? Could he somehow tell he was lying when he was across the room?

"I know you're _sick_, Potter." His tone sent shivers though Harry's spine.

"You have no idea what you're talking about."

"And I also think I'm the only one that knows." Malfoy continued over Harry, speaking calmly as though he knew he had Harry rooted to the spot; and being Malfoy, he probably did. "Otherwise, your disgusting little _pets_ would have followed you here. That leaves me in a very nice position, wouldn't you say?"

"It would, if I were actually sick."

"Why are you in the hospital if you're healthy? Why would you take three vials of potions? Why would you need a…stabilizer, was it, at midday? And why would the patron be pacing for a good twenty minutes before you got here, pulling her hair out and contemplating going to you instead? It must be by _vivid_ imagination." Harry could tell Malfoy was smirking, his tone smug and amused. God, this was the worst possible scenario. Even _Parkinson _would be preferred to be here than _Malfoy_…_She_ could be bought, at least!

"Shut it, Malfoy. I'm here for study purposes. I'm training to be a healer."

"Good try. Wasn't it a 'simple pain reliever'?"

Harry swallowed again, watching as the silver glows blinked again, obviously pleased. He wasn't going to be able to lie out of this one. He was just thankful that Malfoy couldn't see him properly; everyone could always tell as soon as he lied.

"Malfoy, it's really none of your business if I'm slightly ill or not. It's nothing. A slight cold, an injured rib. Nothing. You have nothing on me." Please, _please_ just believe it and shut up!

"If only I could be inclined to somehow consider your ramblings." Harry sighed in frustration, clenching his teeth together furiously. "So what is it Potty? Cancer?"

"It's nothing like-"

"Somehow your magic depleting?" _Holy shit, he couldn't do legilimency, could he?_

"You have no idea-"

"_Don't_ tell me you're _dying? _After all the effort the Dark Lord put into killing you, some _illness_ is going to-"

" SHUT UP!" Harry was almost as shocked as Malfoy as he bellowed at him. He was thankful that the darkness hid his face. Hid his fear. "It's _nothing!" _He spit out, clenching his hands on the sheets furiously. "_You have nothing on me, because I'm _not sick! _I am not dying, I'm perfectly healthy! If I could defeat bloody Voldemort, a fucking _illness _won't be a problem! So, for your deaf ears, and to destroy your fucking vivid imagination; _I. Am. Not. Sick!"

Harry didn't wait for a response as he tore from the room, letting it slam against the wall as he escaped. Shit. Shit! Shitshitshit! By morning, _everyone_ in the castle would know! They would know and judge him, and regret helping him through the war…and _nothing_ would be the same again!

Harry wiped away the tear that managed to escape his eye savagely, cutting his cheek but not caring in the slightest. Out of all the students in the school, why did Draco fucking Malfoy have to be in that room?!

.

.

.

Harry entered the Great Hall quickly, making his way to his seat with his head down and shoulders squared. Merlin, why the hell did they have to sit so far down the table? He accepted a hushed silence, he expected the gossiping to start, the whispers he so _loathed_ to flitter about the room…nothing.

Harry sat down, swallowing tightly as he glanced around. No one was watching him, even less talking about him… what the hell? Harry glanced at Malfoy, who was eating quietly, occasionally speaking to either Zabini or Parkinson. He…hadn't told anyone?

"Oi, Harry." Harry glanced at Ron, tensing as he expected the demand to come…except Ron was looking over his shoulder. Harry followed his gaze, surprised as a beautiful eagle flew through the air, landing directly in front of him.

With trembling hands Harry untied the single parchment, unrolling it with a sick feeling through his stomach.

"That's _Malfoy's _bird. Why is that git writing to you?!"

Harry glanced at the Slytherin table, the impassive Malfoy decidedly refusing eye contact. What the hell? Harry stared at the single word on the paper.

_Denial. _

Snarling, Harry tore up the paper, tossing it to the floor as he jerked his head up to glare at Malfoy again. This time, the blonde git was staring straight at Harry, an elegant eyebrow raised and a smirk on his face.

A challenge if Harry ever saw one.

And who was he to deny a challenge?

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.

.

"Wanna play a quick game of quidditch, Harry?" Oh. Quidditch.

Harry blinked, suddenly feeling a hell of a lot lighter than he had a few minutes ago. Quidditch. Why hadn't he thought of _that_ before? You didn't need magic to play, hell, you only needed to stay on the broom! He could feel _free_ and _normal_ again in the air! Who cared if Malfoy was going to spread rumours about him? If he was in the air, they couldn't reach him, could they?

"Yeah, sure. Be on my team Ron?" Ron grinned at his friend's sudden enthusiasm, glancing at Hermione before nodding again, his smile stretching further.

"Hell yeah! You, me, Dean and Seamus verses the girls."

"Hey, that's not fair!"

"I can barely hold the ball!"

"Come on! It's called a quaffle!"

"A ball is a ball, Ronald."

"You have Ginny!"

Harry smirked at his friends playful bickering, not able to hold back his smile even if he desperately wanted to. This here was normal. This is what he wanted; his friends banter, joking faces, and staying up until midnight just chatting. Right now he felt normal.

The entire group continued arguing about teams until they came to the bridge, finally agreeing on equal-talent teams. It would be Harry, Hermione, and Ron, versus Dean, Ginny, Parvati and Seamus. Since Hermione was a disadvantage, woefully bad and impossible to train, they had decreed the teams fair and just…much to the bushy haired girl's disgruntlement.

"God, why did they return?" Harry glanced at Parvati, who was suddenly shaking with ill-conceived rage, pointedly glaring over Harry's shoulder. Damn it. He had successfully avoided them for the week.

Harry sighed before spinning around, holding back a groan as his eyes met with glinting silver. Naturally, today of all days, this particular minute out of all bloody minutes, did _both_ houses decide to have a match.

Both groups quietened immediately, eyes hardening as they took in the complete opposite of personalities. The Slytherins were all rolling their eyes, glancing at one another and debating silently whether or not to say anything…the Gryffindors were muttering to themselves, eyes hardening and chins stubbornly set. God, this was going to be fun, wasn't it?

"…_We've _booked the pitch." Hermione was the first to speak, crossing her arms dangerously. Always one for authority.

"I'm sure we can halve the space." Harry glanced towards Malfoy at his cool words, not even a hint of aggression or sarcasm in his tone. He looked as tired as Harry felt, almost as sick of all the fighting. As soon as Harry's eyes fell on him, Malfoy glanced his way, taking in his obvious confused expression and smirked, raising his eyebrows. _What, think I can't be mature? _He seemed to be saying, achieving in making Harry turn red and drop his gaze. Damn him! He had avoided him for a few days, and with one sentence, he was already smirking like the git he was. Harry hadn't even said anything yet and Malfoy was making Harry into a fool.

"Snakes have never shared a thing in their lives; better not break the habit." Hermione replied coolly, "And anyway, what makes you think we want to share with the likes of _you_?"

The Slytherins all turned towards Malfoy, who with an exaggerated eye roll turned away…and began to walk off. No fighting, no belittling…no common _Malfoy_ activity. What the hell?

Harry turned back to his friends, watching them light up with pride at their stubborn defender, smiling and making gestures to the Slytherins behind their backs. The entire thing might have been left at that, if a whispered "Tart." From Parkinson to Nott hadn't drifted back over to the cheering Gryffindors.

If only she could have kept her mouth shut for a _second_ longer.

"_Me, _a tart?" Hermione snapped, effectively re-catching every stare from Slytherin and Gryffindor alike.

"Hermione, don't-" Harry began but was silenced into shock by his friend's next words.

"I've heard a lot of stories about _you_, Pansy. Jumping from Malfoy, to Flint, to Nott, back to Malfoy, through the entire Slytherin dorm-"

"Even becoming 'friendly' with the Carrows to get an 'A'." Ginny added her piece, despite the incredulousness from Harry. She acted as if she couldn't see him gaping at her.

"If I'm a tart, at least I'm not…" Hermione trailed off here, looking decidedly uncomfortable. She clearly didn't want to finish the sentence, the vocabulary not particularly nice. Ginny didn't mind.

"A slut."

Harry could barely comprehend he had heard _that_ from innocent Ginny's lips. It was just…it was _Ginny_, for Merlin's sake! He had never assumed she _could_ swear and even if she could, assumed she _wouldn't. _It didn't suit her. And was bloody rude to boot. _A_nd what was worse, was that the other girls were grinning and patting her on the shoulder as if she had done some great justice by slandering another student.

Never had he expected either of his friends to snap back like that; it was just vicious.

"Oh, and _back_ to Malfoy again, I hear. Well done, achieving your all end dreams, aren't you?"

Harry quickly turned back to Parkinson, catching her pale, _hurt_ expression before she covered it hastily, rolling her eyes as if it was of little consequence to her. Harry caught Malfoy's furious gaze though, and knew the truth.

Harry opened his mouth to speak, but before he did, Zabini was moving. He cocked his head to one side, wrapping his arms around Parkinson's waist and leaning his head on her shoulder. "You forgot me, Granger. Don't I count as a good fuck?" He asked as if he was discussing the weather, watching the riffle of indignation run along the Gryffindors with a smirk. "Do you want to give it a go, see if I check out? I want to be added to your list."

"Oi! That's my-"

"I even think I'll be able to stomach it, you know, given _your_ situation." Zabini continued as though Ron didn't speak, his slicing words silencing the group immediately. "Does it count as bestiality, Draco?"

"I think it does." Malfoy drawled out, cocking his eyebrow as he examined Hermione, watching as she shuffled back and turned bright red.

"Oh, good, another experiment off my shagging list then. Up for it, Muddy?"

"I don't want you tainted, Blaise. Who knows what you might catch? Given the Weasel and all." Malfoy spoke as though he was considering a pet, and knowing them all, they probably were.

Hermione was near tears, jerking around stubbornly to glare at Ron and the other boys for not defending her, completely unaware that the Slytherins just smirked and started to leave again, this time without the little remarks.

Harry just stood there nonplussed. The bloody Slytherins had defended their own better and more effectively than the Gryffindors. Which was the house of loyalty again?

Hermione spun around, a retort on her lips finally, but the Slytherins were already a few meters away, beyond caring about the house of red. Instead, she growled, glancing at the other girl Gryffindors. And, girls, being able to somehow communicate with expression alone, nodded in agreement. Ginny whipped out her wand, jerking it in the Slytherin direction.

Almost as if in slow motion, Harry spun back around and watched in growing anger and frustration as Parkinson's cloak suddenly glowed, the words 'slut' staining her back in thick red, neon, and looking remarkably like blood, if not for the fact it glowed. Slytherin and Gryffindor alike jerked out their wands, spinning around with loathing in their eyes, _hurt_ about to come from their lips.

"You _vile little bitch!" _

"_Come closer, I _dare _you!" _

Harry hesitated for a moment, cursing his own lack of better judgement, before lunging forwards himself, both his wand and his fake wand still secured in his robe. He stumbled between both groups, arms out wide and swallowing nervously. He was, despite the fact none of them knew, utterly defenceless. Bloody hell.

"Everyone's angry, just…walk it off…" Walk it off? _Walk it off? Great _suggestion, Harry. You should be a negotiator.

Ron was at the front of the pack, his red face and hair clashing horribly. "Get out of the way, Harry."

"Ron, just calm down-"

"Move it, Potter." Harry glanced at Malfoy, surprised he didn't just hex him, but snapped back to Ron when he jerked forwards again.

"Oi, just calm down! Think for a moment! There are too many of us here, a stray spell could hit _anyone_-"

"They insulted Hermione, Harry! They insulted _me_!" He interrupted roughly, turning his glare on Harry instead of Parkinson. "They're bloody Death-Eaters and worse! We're allowed to get them back, for _everything_ they put us through!"

"Just _think_ about-"

"We're done thinking! We're _Gryffindors_! We don't connive like _them_, we _move! Come on_, Harry! We all know you've wanted to get at Malfoy for years!"

Okay. Fine. If persuasion wouldn't work…

Harry just ignored the Malfoy comment completely. "Oh, yes, definitely Gryffindor. Loyal and brave and all that jazz! Tell me, what do you call hexing someone, without a wand on hand, when they're back is turned? So _very_ Gryffindor, don't you think?" Harry winced, feeling each and every heated glare suddenly thrown his way.

"…Harry-" Dean began angrily, but Harry cut him off immediately, not letting anyone else talk unless they could show that actual _thought_ was occurring behind their thick-headed brains.

"Hermione _did_ start this!" He blurted out, regretting it as soon as it was said. Quickly, he tried to cover it up but knew it was a fail. "I'm not saying you deserved what has been said, Hermione, but you _did_ start this fight!"

"Why the _hell_ are you defending them?" Ginny suddenly bellowed, stepping forwards viciously and shoving Harry's hand away so she could step closer. She practically _radiated_ fury. "They're _scum! They're Death-Eaters!" _

"They are not their fathers." Harry said quietly, the pressure to take a reassuring step away from the fiery girl all too welcoming.

"_Look at his arm!" _Ginny shrieked, gesturing somewhere where Malfoy was standing. "He was as good as a Death-Eater the day he was born! They were out for your time! _Our time!_ _Our lives!" _

"Gin, just try to-"

"No! _No! _You weren't here! You weren't held under the crucio, by _him_, in classes! You weren't _humiliated_ by _them_ daily, were you? _They. Are. Scum!" _God, Ginny was about to burst into tears, her voice started quivering as she stared at Malfoy with such _loathing_.

"Scum or not, they've done nothing _today_-"

"They killed Fred." Ron muttered quietly, raising his head to meets Harry's horrified face. "And you're defending them?"

"…Ron-"

"Lavander was killed too. Or do you not care about her?" Parvati spoke up, hands clenched in rage as she stared at Harry, blinking away as if ashamed.

"Colin _idolized_ you." Seamus added quietly, shaking his head in disgust before he literally stalked away from the group, his anger radiating as he stormed off.

He wasn't diminishing their lives, though. He wasn't telling anyone to forget about them, or just get on with their lives…revenge was disgusting though. It had turned people Harry thought he knew into these strangers.

"I'm not saying to forget them! Have I ever said that? I just don't want curses flung around where anyone could get hurt!" Harry swallowed again as Ginny stepped closer, hand on her wand threateningly. When had a simple game of Quidditch turned into a fight for his bloody life?

"They chose the wrong side, Harry. They fought against _us_! _Against you! _She_,"_ Ginny spat, as if daring Parkinson to deny anything she might say, "_demanded_ we just give you up to Voldemort! How can you just…forget all that?"

"I'm not!" Harry hastily tried to figure out when this had turned into a political debate. "I'm just…moving on."

"Moving on." Ron turned away in disgust, following Seamus' example. "How can I possibly move on?" Harry watched helplessly as Hermione ran off after him, not even sending Harry a last glare. He had crossed some line, and he didn't know if he would be allowed to redeem himself again.

…

Did he really want to?

The next second he had to fumble for his wand, a reflex from the war, and cast a quick protégo as a jinx appeared from nowhere. Harry turned to Ginny, eyebrows raised as he took on her stubborn stance. Without a word she tried to jinx him again, then sent out a curse.

Each time, Harry blocked it with ease, trying to feel at ease with a wand in his hand instead of nauseated. He was lucky he had managed to grab his actual wand, not the fake copy.

"…you won't win." He said softly, determined to not drop his gaze from Ginny's, struggling not to stare at his body to find out what ailment was going to occur now.

He blocked a last jinx, then watched as his classmates, he didn't feel brave enough to call them his friends right now, turn and storm off, excessively loud shouts of outrage reaching him even when they had retreated back inside.

Knowing that only half the battle was over, Harry sighed heavily before willing himself to turn around, wincing as a group of furious glares met his gaze immediately. It seemed that they neither wanted nor needed his help, and Malfoy was already opening his mouth to no doubt tell him so, when it happened.

His magic was…popping. That was the only way to describe this weird sensation down his arm. Harry frowned, feeling as though small bubbles were under his skin, and each time one popped a biting, burning sensation lingered cruelly. He winced, watching with a morbid fascination as his hand suddenly stopped wriggling, and lay dead, the 'bubbles' slowly inching up to his wrist instead.

Harry tried to move his fingers, to click, to simply bend his thumb…nothing.

He only had to wait until his wrist stopped flexing before spinning around and bolting back towards the castle. Screw the Slytherins, they would probably leave him there and hex him for helping.

Harry flew through the corridors, tripping once on a stair and getting unsteadily to his feet, one arm dangling uselessly by his side. He caught sight of his fingers, almost whimpering as he saw they were already a deep blue.

It was lucky for him that his feet were in survival mode, sprinting without conscious thought of a destination. The bubbles were crossing his chest, his stomach, down his thighs… it was getting difficult to breathe, his vision was fading with these black dots flickering in and out of focus…

The doors of the hospital wing flew opened before Harry could touch them.

"MADAM POMFR-"

His legs gave way, sending him crashing to the floor, blood spurting from his nose as he fell straight on his face, without arms to either ease his fall nor hold him up. Thank god he was turned over quickly, his panic fading as his ability to keep his eyes open did.

"…I can't…move…bubbles…burning…spreading…" He managed to whisper out, he hoped at least, before the darkness finally took him.

Harry's last conscious thought was he didn't particularly want to wake up.


	4. Your Bed, or Mine?

I do not own anything here, nor am I making a profit from this. It is purely to pass my time, and hopefully, interest other people. J.K. Rowling owns Harry Potter, not me.

Thank you for the reviews, Ritsuki Yonsago, Angel-Miyu, LieatWill, doyou000me, violetkitty02, and MirrorFlower and DarkWind! They made me smile for hours :)

I'm still attempting not to ruin it, so I hope you all like the chapter - I couldn't leave it on a cliffhanger like that, I felt too mean hahaha. Hopefully it gets slightly happier from here on out. :)

**Chapter Four - Your bed, or mine?**

It took Harry a particularly long time to find the strength to open his eyes. He knew he was conscious, because he could hear the shuffling of feet as someone paced through the room. He could hear cheering from outside, a distant, unfamiliar sound. He recognised the fact he was controlling his own breathing in an attempt to remain still and calm.

He realised he was still alive, despite the happiness he had felt with his last thought. His hopeful last thought.

Harry remained perfectly still, breathing in and out, refusing to move.

What if he couldn't move? The fear that had stricken him when he realised that he was numbing and steadily losing control of his limbs was fresh in his mind, repeating like an avalanche each time he thought he had gathered enough courage to try to move again. If he couldn't move, and instead was destined to live in his bed, paralysed, he would pay his entire fortune to have a time turner, and go back and simply let Voldemort kill him properly the second time. And he would do it with a grin and a bow. No, the fucked up _thing_ called 'Destiny' had already screwed Harry over enough for one year…paralysing him would be bloody smash his head in when he was down…and only then would the kick come.

Harry slowly opened his eyes, fighting the wave of nausea that hit him as he stared at his still body. He glared at his hand, calling each and every miniscule spec of courage he had left…and his finger twitched. Oh, thank Merlin!

Harry sighed shakily, clenching his fist and lifted a trembling hand to his face, pure relief coursing through him. He wasn't paralysed. Pomfrey had fixed him again.

He could go on living this very unfulfilling life.

Harry dropped his hand again, shaking his head in disbelief of his own foolish fears. He yelped the next second, hastily lifting his hand again. Touching the soft blanket had _hurt_, a sharp jab of pain lacing through his fingertips. It had felt different, more pronounced.

Barely even breathing, Harry dropping his hand again, running his fingers over the blanket and shivering at the touch. It was coarse and unsteady, like running a hand over gravel. He half expected his hands to be bleeding, but they only stung viciously instead. Huh. _Only. _

Harry's head jerked around as Pomfrey came bustling over, shaking her head sadly and not blatantly not meeting Harry's eyes. "What's wrong with my hands?"

The nurse sighed obvious relief as he though, her entire body sagging as if some great weight had suddenly been removed from her shoulders. She slumped onto the bed, her hair frazzled and her eyes bloodshot. With trembling hands did she check Harry's pulse, her wand disregarded. Thankfully. Harry wasn't even sure she could hold it straight at the moment, let alone cast a spell.

"…What's wrong with my hands?" Harry repeated, swallowing to try to withhold some of his rapidly growing anger. She still ignored him, instead lightly touched his wrist.

Harry yelped and jerked away from her, as if burnt. He could _feel_ every groove of her fingerprint, the ragged skin blazing as it pressed into him.

"_What the bloody hell is wrong with me?" _

Finally, _finally_, Pomfrey flickered her eyes to meet Harry's fearful ones, hastily turning back to stare intently at his hands instead. "Your magic was more aggressive this time." She managed to get out, and once she had started, continued on ruthlessly. "It tried to shut you down. It immediately started to shut down your nerves and sensory cells; I believe that was the 'bubbles' you felt. It spread down your arm, to the rest of the body, shutting off organs as it went. You're lucky you got here when you did!" She snapped, suddenly jerking to her feet and glaring at Harry. "What were you doing using spells? And _outside_ of class no less! What _were_ you thinking?"

"I was maintaining inter-house unity." This was unbelievable. He had bloody _stopped_ a fight occurring, one that would have been disastrous, and he was the one getting yelled at?

"Did it work?"

"Yes." Harry snapped back at her, rolling his eyes. How _dare_ she? "Tell me what's wrong with my hands!"

"You hurt your nerves and sensory cells. I've already told you that." She sniffed, reminding Harry remarkably of his aunt. His liking for the nurse went down a notch, accordingly. "They're repairing themselves, but in the meantime, they're working overload, and are clearly sensitive."

_Sensitive? _It made the blanket feel like gravel, her hands torturous. He could feel every crevasse of his clothing, heavy and uncomfortable over his body.

"When will it be…back to normal?" God, did he want the answer to this question?

"…In a few hours at most." He literally sagged with relief, chuckling without mirth as he realised what he had narrowly avoided. He was going to be okay, only a few hours of discomfort. And an entire Gryffindor house snapping at him for the rest of the week. And the entire Slytherin house cursing at him for the rest of the week. So, all in all, nothing much had changed. He had got off relatively scot free.

"What time is it?"

"Nearly lunch."

"If I'm not there, they'll all notice, and I don't have an excuse. I'm fine now, right? Only a bit _sensitive_?" Harry sighed as the nurse glared at him again, puffing herself up and tittering away as she tried to find an excuse to keep him locked in here. He overrode her when she went to talk though. "I've already told you and Professor McGonagall that I wish to remain as normal as possible. You both agreed. If I'm absent too much people will notice."

Pomfrey just continued to glare at him, shaking her head in disbelief. Eventually, she tossed down a few viles onto the bed, stalking away furiously. "You're to stay here another hour." Her tone left no objections, but as soon as she had entered her office, Harry had already downed to potions and was out the door. He knew he would have to stand her wrath tonight, but in the meantime he couldn't care less.

Harry swallowed as he sped through the halls, cringing as his toes flexed around the uncomfortable, not so soft anymore socks. He folded his arms, snatching them away again as his hair felt like coarse wires. He blinked, amazed at how _heavy_ his eyelids were now, at how bloody _bright_ the sunlight was.

It was a strange experience, to say the least. He shuffled through the halls, everyday activities now difficult and uncomfortable. Only a few hours. He only had to put up with this for a few, miniscule hours. Compared to his thoughts when he was first awake, a little _sensitivity_ was _nothing._

Harry entered the hall cautiously, his eyes heading straight to the Gryffindors. As soon as he entered his peers turned to him, their faces all tangled between disbelief and fury. It was to be expected, but it still hurt as he sat down and suddenly the bloody _first years_ were shuffling away from him, further down the bench. Really? _Really?_

He could hear them all snapping at one another, retelling the story to those that weren't present. It was ridiculous. He had stopped a fight, and now they were acting as if he were the plague! Well, they were right there, but it was still utterly stupid.

He glanced towards the Slytherin table, interested to know if his assumption about them had been accurate too. He wished he hadn't.

The Slytherins were all eating, but pointedly watching Harry, their gazes curious, interested. They looked as if they had been given a difficult but amusing problem to riddle out, and were enjoying discovering the answer. The Slytherins smirked at one another, slight frowns covering their foreheads. God, they were all involved in the riddle.

Every. Single. Slytherin.

Even the first years were copying their seniors, staring at Harry and smirking every now and again, the younger ones giggling before they could control their faces. Great. The Gryffindors were furious, to the degree of ignoring him again. The Slytherins were _interested_ in him. Terrific.

…What if Malfoy had told them?

Ignoring the sinking feeling in his stomach, Harry reached out and grabbing a sausage to nibble on.

_Fuck! _A stabbing burning ignited his fingers, his already vulnerable nerves screaming as suddenly molten lava was pressed into his hand. Harry gasped, dropping the sausage immediately and blew on his abused fingertips. They throbbed, from one light touch.

Swallowing tightly, and not knowing what to do, Harry grabbed his fork, startling at the completely smooth and _cool_ texture of it, before stabbing the sausage again. Before attempting to eat it though, Harry ran his fingers over the fork, completely at awe at its perfection. Not a single bump or crevasse in the fork…not one blemish. It was the softest thing he had felt all day.

Eventually Harry thought his meat must be cooled down a bit, so he went to take a bite.

And dropped it hastily as his lips _burnt_, stinging as though they had been held over a fire. Was _everything_ going to be exemplified like this?

Harry clenched his teeth, staring at his food furiously before shoving the plate away. It seemed fate really _did_ detest him, didn't it? Now it was trying to starve him too.

Something hot and savage suddenly whipped at Harry's back. He shuddered, cringing away from the touch quickly and spun around trying to find the culprit. Stinging jinx. Exemplified hundreds of times over. A welt was already forming over his shoulders, digging into his muscles as his stupid bloody nerves refused to let go of the pain!

Harry snarled, turning to glare at his peers in red. They all looked too absorbed in their meals right now, none of them talking as if it wasn't suspicious enough that they all suddenly had their heads down and faced away from Harry. Bloody hell! He expected them to be angry, yes. He _didn't _expect them to be this petty to want a trivial revenge. 

Another whip curled around Harry's arm, sinking in its teeth and smirking as Harry winced, hands hovering uselessly between his inadequate wand and his susceptible skin. It dulled after a few minutes, but the continuous ache was still there, taunting him, throbbing with his pulse.

Harry glanced around the hall once more, glaring at the Gryffindors, and after a thought about it, throwing the Slytherins a glare too.

He couldn't take it anymore. _Everything _was too much at the moment. Everything _felt_ like too much.

Before anyone could blink, Harry had bolted from the hall, hands shaking from either rage or hurt.

A few of the first years, and far too many of the second, claimed he had apparated.

.

.

.

Merlin, this day was hell.

Harry sat at his desk, waving his fake wand around watching dully as his classmates all performed their spells with apt precision. No one glared at Harry in this class, they barely looked at him. However, when they _did_ glance his way all their faces lit up with grins or sneers. Harry Potter, Defence Against the Dark Arts extraordinaire, failing to cast a simple shield spell? Karma.

Harry opted for running his fingertips over his fake wand, taking note of any blemishes and crevasses in his wand. Though it was tough against his fingers, and coarse, not at all smooth or gentle…it didn't hurt him to trail his hands over it. Though it was jagged and rough, it was perfect. In its own way.

Harry smiled softly to himself, another counterfeit one, as considered this. Though his magic was trying to have him killed, his wand would always be there, sturdy, to protect him-

Harry gasped as his inkwell exploded, the chilly blue ink running down his arms and across his uniform. God, it was _so cold_. Worse than ice, or a chilly breeze…the ink felt like death, slimy, crawling over his skin…

Harry left the room without a word, not giving his friends that satisfaction…it wasn't really their fault. They thought they were doing harmless pranks, not that it was seriously hurting or scaring Harry. And it wasn't. Not in the slightest.

The water was worse than the ink.

Harry blinked heavily, cringing as the water slapped against his skin.

_He couldn't take much more of this. _

.

.

.

Harry stared at his food stubbornly, his right hand still throbbing at his attempt to pick up a chip. It was pathetic. Harry verses his magic…Round fifty three goes to his magic. Nil to fifty three. Merlin, this _life_ was pathetic.

Harry glanced over at his friends, who had sat closer than they had at lunch. Hermione kept glancing at him and smiling softly, so obviously she was over the fight. Ginny had moved to the Ravenclaw table to sit with Luna rather than him, and Ron had looked like he had been tempted, but words from Hermione had stopped him.

It made him curious to what Hermione had said, to make them ready to forgive him already. After all, they had made some pretty big accusations, and Harry _knew_ how much his stance had hurt Ron…so not even twenty four hours later and they were ready to forgive and forget? Hermione must have said _something_.

But Harry was perplexed as to what that could be. There was really nothing going for him at the moment, except for trying to stop a fight. And as it was, the Gryffindors weren't that happy about _that_.

Harry blinked as Hermione smiled at him again, her eyes…full of _sympathy? _No. Fucking _no! _He did _not_ want _sympathy_! What the hell did she say?

"…I thought you lot were going to be mad at me for quite some time." Harry made sure his voice was low, not at all angry or irritated as he sure _felt_. Said irritation only grew as Hermione smiled again, shaking her head softly as a mother would at something silly a child would say.

"Oh, Harry." Hold in the temper. Do _not_ snap at _not_ lunge across the table. "It's alright…I just…came to realise something."

"…Which was?"

"…You _weren't_ supporting the Slytherins earlier today Harry. God, we were all so _blind_ not to see it."

Harry sat in shock, for once not able to say anything to his friend. He had always given her a lot of credit for being the brightest witch in their age, but maybe not enough. She had thought back to the fight, remembered what he had said, and-

"You don't have to hide it anymore. We know you've developed some sort of phobia to duelling."

-made up some bloody misguided, _stupid_ mess of an excuse. Maybe he should take some credit away? Harry sat in silence for a moment, staring at his usually bright friend and fighting the increasing need to scoff at her.

"I'm _what?_"

"I know, we're all so _blind_." Hermione continued in a rush, smiling brilliantly at him now. "I mean, you had to fight and fight and fight last year, and we all _know_ you _hated_ it, and then you had a duel for your life with Voldemort, and it just makes _sense_ that you don't like others fighting, because you _know _what can happen in a duel, in a spell fight, and you want to avoid that. You weren't sticking up for the Slytherins, you were just…trying to avoid your fear. Then, you don't do any practical work in Defence because it makes you uneasy… We get it Harry, we get it. We've all decided not to duel near you again, until you get comfortable with the idea."

Harry could do nothing but blink. Had they _always_ been this…_stupid_? He opened his mouth to reply that they could fight all they bloody wanted because he was _not_ afraid _to_ fight (it was just his body didn't allow him anymore!), when an eagle dropped down on his plate, holding its leg out expectantly at him.

What was the eagle doing? It was _hours_ past post…wait. He knew this eagle. He saw it bombard its owner with letters and sweets for years.

Without a word, Harry reached up and took the letter, ignoring the glares around him again.

_Still in denial? That, or you've taken an overdose of 'contact exemplifying potion' – useful, but only in bed, and with experience._

It was actually kind of funny. Harry sat in surprise as he realised it had actually persuaded a chuckle to escape his lips. He had laughed. He hadn't laughed in months…and _Malfoy _had been the one to make him laugh again?

The eagle hadn't left the table yet.

After hesitating once more, he grabbed a quill and scribbled a reply, shocked at his own actions.

_And you have experience with a 'contact exemplifying potion'? You'll have to teach me, Mr Experience._

He didn't know if this was wise, but…he had laughed. He had actually found something _funny_. If he could stay this…_bubble_ for a while longer, it was worth it.

Harry, along with the rest of the hall, watched as the eagle soared back to its owner. The blonde looked mildly surprised in receiving a reply, staring at Harry wirily before taking the note.

He glanced around the hall, rolling his eyes dramatically as everyone stared at him, making some of them shuffle uncomfortably as his gaze landed on them. However, he must have realised he couldn't make the entire hall look away, including the teachers, Harry noticed with frustration, so he instead slowly opened the note.

It seemed the entire hall was holding its breath. Waiting for something, anyway. A fight, the apocalypse, either or.

Harry watched as silent as everyone else as Malfoy read the note, his eyebrows shooting up in surprise. He smirked, folding the note into his pocket, and slowly raised his head.

Harry swallowed nervously as Malfoy's silver eyes met his, amusement shining in them. For whatever way he was going to do to utterly humiliate Harry, or from what he had written?

Malfoy ignored the entire hall, pretending they weren't watching and analysing his every move.

And winked.

At Harry.

"Your bed or mine?"

Harry sat there, absolutely _mortified_ as the eyes swung angrily to him. He knew he was already turning red, and was about to use magic, if even to just snap his own neck, when he caught Malfoy smirking at him. He shook his head slightly, amused. It was as if he didn't think Harry had a sense of humour!

Harry quickly turned back to his plate, hand covering his mouth to try to stifle the snort of laughter. This was _ridiculous_.

And yet, it was making him laugh.

"What the bloody hell did he mean?"

"Harry, what did you send him?"

"What the hell was that?"

"Are you _gay_, Harry?"

Harry glanced up, red faced and still laughing, to catch Malfoy chuckling himself, fending off a pack of Slytherins, obviously demanding the same questions. He didn't even mind that as people shook his shoulder he could feel their pulse. He didn't mind their touch felt oily, slimy, and rough, as if they were going to leave bruises. He didn't care.

Harry laughed.


	5. Succorbentis?

I do not own anything here, nor am I making a profit from this. It is purely to pass my time, and hopefully, interest other people. J. owns Harry Potter, not me.

Thank you for all the reviews! Thank you Angel-Miyu, MaiKanon, Ritsuki Yonsago, demonicfate616, ParanormalMoonlight, Astrido, Queenmarie124, iamnotafreakingGOTH, WolfandWhitlock, xxx, MirrorFlower and DarkWind, Claudeville, SLNS, Agent Kittens, Torilynneb, Allyieh, Septentrio, Guest, SevLoverKat, Babywolfchick1142, and ForsakenMemories8650! This chapter too so long to write because I wanted to make it perfect, don't know if I did or if I've completely ruined it, bt I'm updating either way hahaha! This chapter is for all the fantastic people that reviewed! :)

** Chapter Five - Succorbentis?**

Well, everything was back to normal. The Gryffindors ignored him. The Hufflepuffs gave him a wide berth. The Ravenclaws were making assumptions that turned into rumours. The Slytherins were being Slytherins.

Hermione was warming up to him again, like usual, and trying to convince the others to come around, but it was slow work. They had seen hell freeze over. Harry and Malfoy were communicating, secretly, and sharing a joke. Ron looked as if he had been stabbed by Harry, and probably thought he _had_ been. Harry had tried to explain that Malfoy had just cheered him up, but that had set off a whole new argument. Why was Harry going to _Malfoy _before _Ron_? And truly, Harry didn't have an answer.

Sure, he could have been snide about it and remark on the constant ignoring, or snapping, or jinxing that was occurring since they had returned to Hogwarts…but it was just a cover. If Harry had wanted Ron to cheer him up he would have asked him to a suggested a game of quidditch. Harry just didn't see Ron as the one to go to first anymore. He saw himself alone, as he had the entire summer…and Malfoy had simply been the first one to come along and say anything remotely funny. It hadn't been personal against Ron, it had been random. If Zabini, or Parvati, or even Luna had spoken to him like that, he would have laughed too…maybe.

Harry glanced up, rolling his eyes and muttered to himself. "Speak of the devil…"

Malfoy had just entered the library. And was making a beeline towards Harry. Fantastic. It wasn't as if Harry had strategized this at all, nothing of the sort. So what if it was a Hogsmade weekend, the first of the year, and he had expected everyone to go? So what he had literally dragged a table across the library to the darkest, cramped corner he could possibly find just so that no one would approach him, even if they _could_ find him? That he was doing his _potions_ homework, so that even if they _did_ find him, they wouldn't be enticed to stay? So what if he had _specifically _told Madam Prince if anyone asked for him, to tell them that he had never crossed the library threshold? Not strategized. He wasn't irritated at all.

Harry turned back to his book, pretending he couldn't see that Malfoy steadily approaching, and that the function of Daisyroot Drought was _somewhere_ on his page. How the hell was he supposed to know what Daisyroot Drought was? Or how it was related with strong sleeping solutions? And as Hermione was still on-again-off-again fine with Harry, he was forced to struggle through his forte of potions alone. Just brilliant, actually.

Malfoy sat opposite him, chin rested on his hands as he observed Harry with amusement. "The answer is not in any potions book; it's common knowledge. Even _you_ cannot be that bad, Potter."

"…Well, as everyone knows, Potions is my forte." Harry replied slowly, glancing around to see, to his complete surprise, that they were completely alone in the library.

"Obviously." When he didn't exaggerate that frustrating answer, Harry felt himself almost growling.

"What the hell do you want, Malfoy?" Seriously, he _was_ trying to work here! He couldn't very well fight Malfoy, so this situation was infuriating the _hell_ out of Harry. If only he could say one spell…_one, _dammit. But after pushing it the other day, he didn't dare risk it. No more risks.

_Something_ was amusing Malfoy, for he cocked his head to the side, his eyebrows raised in his signature move. "I'm getting my answer; your bed, or mine?"

And there it was; it turns out they _weren't _having, remarkably, a civil conversation; Malfoy was just trying to be a prat. Again. "Only funny once, Malfoy…"

"If you're going to propose some fun, you can't just pull out whenever you feel like it." Harry glanced at Malfoy at the serious, lecturing tone, his jaw dropping. "I've no pleasure to look forwards to later now."

Harry could only stare at the blonde, wondering what the hell was wrong with him! This was _Malfoy¸_the boy who loathed him since first year! What the hell was he playing at? "…I…I'm not…you can't be…why…?"

"Relax, Potter; I have no plans to somehow get you into my bed; Gryffindors are not allowed in the Slytherin Dormitory." Malfoy smirk remained though, as if he found Harry incredibly funny. Harry was still reeling over the 'only' remark. So, did that mean if it was in Gryffindor tower, it would be allowed? No! Stop Harry! Why the hell was he even considering this? He didn't like guys, first of all, and he _didn't _like the Slytherin Prince! Harry shook his head, snapping his jaw shut. He raised his eyebrows, confused as Malfoy leant over to flick Harry's hand, his grey eyes never leaving Harry's face.

What the _hell_?

His smirk deepened. "So, Potter, are you still in denial, or do you need further convincing?"

For Christs sake! "I don't know what you mean. Just drop it."

"Sure." He shrugged, as if it was of no real importance but the humour _still_ in his eyes told clearly he was not about to drop anything. His next words only confirmed this. "But indulge me for a moment."

Harry sighed dramatically and slammed his head on the desk, ignoring how Malfoy picked up his book and began flipping through it. He didn't care if he was being childish. He just wanted the prat to _leave_.

"Mature, aren't you, Potter?" The Blonde Git had the audacity to sound smug, before he pushed the book back towards Harry. Groaning, and not caring in the least how it only proved Malfoy's point, Harry pushed himself up and stared at the page.

And turned bright red.

"Enough of the joke, Malfoy! Am I supposed to be-?"

"How about you get some glasses that don't make you look completely defective, and _read._"

Growling, Harry turned back and skimmed it again, not seeing what Malfoy was waiting for. He skimmed over the method, and the effects of it…nothing of interest. Until he saw the warning at the bottom of the page.

"Do you require me to read it to you?" Malfoy asked helpfully, his tone far too bright to be considered _real_. Harry knew the real Malfoy…and this wasn't it.

"I think I'll manage-"

"It says 'extremely potent potion; effects wear off within 72 hours'." He spoke over Harry anyway, watching with his never wavering smirk as Harry rolled his eyes. "Do you know what _that_ means?"

"I'm sure you're planning on-"

"It means," Harry actually growled this time, not even trying to hide his complete frustration. "when I flicked you, it should have left a bruise, and you should have been in pain. So, Potter, try again. Are you still in denial? Because the lukewarm sausages we had for dinner the other night should not have burnt you, and when the ink spilled, you looked as if you were about to cry. If it's not through that potion, what is it?"

"You need to find yourself a hobby." Harry snapped back at him; for the first time since Malfoy had arrived, anger grated at him. "It's none of your business. I. Am. Not. Sick."

"Oh, great; denial again."

"What is it to you anyway? You hate me, I hate you; remember?" Harry grit his teeth as Malfoy only smirked further, eyebrows raised and his head shaking. Why was he even listening to this shit?

"Like I said, Potter; if you have a plan, stick through with it until the end, don't get shy halfway and give up; Slytherins don't give up."

"No, Slytherins manipulate until they get what they want, and if it's too dangerous, run away like the dogs they are. They know _nothing_ of determination, so don't you bloody _preach_ to me! You're nothing more than a Dea…" Shit. Say it. Harry's throat clamped shut. Say it! Call him a Death-Eater! He'll bloody _leave_!

"You can't even finish a sentence through? Pathetic, even for you, Potty."

"_Just leave!" _

"No. I'm _determined_ to get what I want." Harry slammed his hand against the wood, finally meeting Malfoy's cool gaze with a pair of furious emeralds.

"Which is for me to admit that I'm sick? Then you'll piss of and just _leave me alone?_"

"You'll have to test that theory."

Hands shaking, Harry withdrew his wand, pointing it at Malfoy's chest. His wand. Not his fake one. Malfoy was going to bloody leave, one way or the other. "Get out. Leave me alone. The joke's over."

He expected a jibe or two. He expected the arrogant git to maybe leave. He didn't expect the smirk to flick back to Malfoy's face. Malfoy slowly pulled out his own, pointing it at Harry's face, his own calm and collected. He glanced at Harry's trembling hand, but didn't comment on it. He just stared back at the furious, slightly scared boy.

"Go on then. I'll even give you first shot."

God, Harry wanted to. A simple stunner. The curse to make him vomit up slugs. Even a simple expelliarmus just to see the expression on his face…

But Harry didn't move, like he knew he wouldn't. Like Malfoy, somehow, knew he wouldn't.

After a few moments of furious silence, Malfoy snickered. Harry's eyes narrowed slightly, his teeth clenched together furiously. "Of course not; you're _weak_, Potter. Go on, embrace your true Gryffindork colours! Curse me! Just like all the blood-traitors and Mudbloods!" He paused here, cocking his head to the side, considering. Harry tightened his fingers around his wand, inching to use it…but something was off. Something just wasn't sitting right…

"Tell me, did the stupid little elf die? It deserved to, the retar-" Malfoy shut up as he was flung backwards across the library, slamming into a shelf before slipping to the floor. Books cascaded around him, toppling off the shelves dangerously, but he only held his stomach, wincing slightly.

Harry swallowed, trying to dry his mouth. Shit. _Shit! _He stared at his body, waiting for something to happen. What was going to betray him next? His neck? Leg? What was going to stop? His lungs? Kidneys? Heart?

But nothing happened. His magic didn't react this time. _Thank god! _

Harry sighed shakily, he sat back down to ease his trembling when he remembered the Blonde-Git-From-Hell. "Don't insult Dobby." He muttered softly, knowing Malfoy would hear. He refused to look up at him, instead started to flick through the pages again, eyes searching blindly.

He heard Malfoy shuffle to his feet, but still refused to turn away from the book. It was his fault. He should be in Hogsmade, drinking butterbeer and mucking around with his friends, not irritating Harry in an isolated part of the library.

"Daisyroot Draught is a beverage; sugar water. It won't be in a potions book."

Harry snapped his head back to up see a cloak disappear around the shelving, shaking his head in disbelief. He had _willingly_ assisted _Harry_ with his _Potions_ homework?

Draco Malfoy just, sort of, apologized to him?

.

.

.

Harry glanced at the map, double checking it again before deciding to venture out. It wouldn't do to be caught now, not when for so long he had been fine. It would become an annoyance if he was caught now. Or did he _want_ to be caught? To finally tell his friends exactly what was wrong?

No. Not that. Never that.

Harry's eyes swept the map, smirking as he ensured everyone was in bed. Ron and Hermione were _sharing_ one… as disgusting as that was to Harry, who considered Ron his brother and Hermione his sister. It just felt…wrong, for his two best friends to get all mushy and cuddly with one another.

Sighing, Harry put the map away and snuck out of the dorm, walking aimlessly through the corridors. He knew his feet would take him where he needed to go…it didn't help that he didn't want to go at all. That his mind was constantly in a fight with his feet, _demanding_ that he go back to bed and ignore the fiery nurse in the morning. His feet won out, as they did every Tuesday.

His feet did have a good point though, Harry thought sourly. He...wasn't doing well on Tuesdays. It was getting harder to get up at midnight and wander to the nurse, knowing she would just tie him up, start the treatment, and retreat to her office. Harry _loathed_ the stillness, the silence. He hated the straps that held him in place. And he detested the treatment. It made him…small. Weak. Insignificant. And with the year he was having, that was _not_ what he wanted on his mind. The reason that so many people with this disease died was suddenly becoming clearer to Harry. He could…associate with them. He just...he was just tired.

At least the school was slowly turning back to normal. The rumours about him and Malfoy were slowly dwindling away into nothingness; the Gryffindors were being friendlier towards him, with the exception of Ron.

Ron, it seemed, held a grudge. Long enough for Hermione to realise she was wrong about his stubbornness. When Ron was angry, he was _angry_, and no amount of reasoning would convince him otherwise. It also didn't help that he had remembered something everyone had forgotten; it wasn't the first letter from Malfoy. And, that potions class, they had gotten along. Ron was not forgiving of these 'crimes' it seemed, and was steadily ignoring Harry until he apologized.

That wasn't going to happen. Harry had apologized once for something beyond his control, he would be damned if he did it again!

Harry paused his next step, listening intently. He thought he had heard…

Sighing, he pulled out the map, growling as he read it. Harry Potter was walking steadily down the corridor…with Ron and Hermione a few feet away from him. If this wasn't bad enough, Malfoy was a few corridors away, as was Filtch. Great.

"I know you're there. Take it off." Harry spun around, holding out his hand expectantly. There was a stilled silence for a moment, then a flourish as suddenly his friends appeared, looking slightly hassled in being caught out. Hermione handed over the cloak obediently, blushing and muttering an apology for taking it. "And you were following me because…?"

"Where were you going?" Harry glanced at Ron, surprised he had spoken. It was the first time in days he had even looked at him. Of course, Harry couldn't answer that though.

"None of your business."

Ron set his jaw stubbornly, eyes blazing when Hermione broke in, obviously trying to get through this with as little shouting as possible. "Harry, you sneak out every night, at the same time. Don't try to deny it, Dean and Seamus have been checking for us." _What?_ Great, they were _all_ spying on him? What happened to being ignored? "You really shouldn't be sneaking about like this."

"I have permission." Harry replied steadily, watching coolly as they glanced at one another, as if they expected this retort.

"No teacher would give permission to wander the school at night. So, where are you going?"

"Hermione, it's really _none of your business_."

She sighed impatiently, stamping her foot like a kid. "Harry! We don't like playing this card, but we're prefects! We have a responsibility to report anyone we see wandering around. Just tell us where you go, and let us come along, and we won't report you." Hell no! "You should trust us a bit more, Harry, given _everything_ we've all-"

"Oh, no! You don't get to play this card!" Harry snapped, "As _friends_, I should be able to trust you _not_ to explode inkwells and cast stinging jinxes!"

"Harry…you _defended_ the Slytherins, _against us! _I'm not going to divulge who it was, but they were angry!" Hermione glowered, raising her eyebrows as if she had every bloody right. "You were exchanging messages with…well, you know. And after everything we've been though, everyone we've _lost_…it's not fair for you to choose them over us! It's just not fair!"

Harry clenched his jaw to stop the plethora of choice swears that he oh so badly _wanted_ to throw her way. _How dare she?_ "I. Wasn't. Choosing. Anyone!"

"What's going on with you and _Malfoy_?_" _Ron burst out, looking both uneasy and livid as he asked. He shifted slightly, as if he didn't want to know the answer, but his stubborn set of his jaw said he _needed_ to know.

"_Nothing."_

"There were rumours!"

"So I heard."

"Every rumour has a slither of truth in it." Hermione added unhelpfully, joining forces with Ron to glare down Harry. She waited impatiently for Harry to deny it, but he just shook his head, trying to hold back his bellowing. Barely.

"What did the note say?" Hermione asked suddenly, ignoring Harry's incredulous stare. It was as if she was _provoking_ Ron!

"_Nothing. _It was just a joke." Harry managed to bite it out without yelling, but whipped his head back to the steadily livid Ron. He was doing _nothing_ to keep his voice down.

"A joke? With Malfoy?" His face had turned a blotchy red, his eyes wide and furious. "_What's going on with you and Malfoy?! It's not…natural! You're both guys for Merlins sake!" _

Oh, so apparently he had believed the rumours. Fucking Typical!

"Ron! _There is _nothing_ going on!" _

"But you defended them! You _defended _Malfoy!"

"You're both bloody morons!" No. He wasn't holding this back anymore. "There is nothing going on! We loathe each other just as much as we used to! Rumours! That's all it is to it! Fucking rumours!"

Ron puffed himself up though, instead of looking bashful he looked more smug if anything. "_What were you doing in the library with Malfoy then? You were talking! Chatting!" _

"Why the bloody hell are you _spying_ on me? _I'm guessing you missed the bit where I blasted him across the room then?!" _

_"You're…you're…fraternizing with the enemy!" _Ron bellowed, jabbing Harry in the chest. "_Come on, it's not normal! It's…sodomy!" _

_"EXCUSE ME?!" _

"Tut tut, listen to you all; you're going to wake the entire castle."

Oh, for the love of…!

Harry cursed fate again, the stupid bloody notion ruining his entire fucking life, and turned around to glare warily at Malfoy, who was leaning against an adjoining corridor wall, his trademark smirk already in place. How much had he heard?

"Fuck off, Malfoy!" Ron bellowed, snarling at him. "You stay away from Harry!"

Malfoy just raised his eyebrows, cocking his head to the side. "I don't listen to _you_, Weasel. Potter," Harry cringed as he turned to him, amusement shining through his eyes. "McGonagall asked me to inform you that your detention starts in five minutes." And with that, he turned and walked away, calm as could be.

Harry was stunned. Why was Malfoy _helping_ him? Why?

Harry turned to his friends, furious. They were both glancing at each other, _finally_ looking bashful. "Happy now? One big mystery solved! Here's another; why the hell am I friends with you?" He snapped, twirling around and storming down a random corridor. _How dare they? _ Harry's blood was boiling, more than it had in weeks…it felt like when he saw Romilda trying to push that Slytherin girl down the stairs….he felt…alive.

And then it shattered. He was only alive if he was angry? What a life.

Harry leaned against a wall, desperately trying to calm himself down. He almost succeeded too, before the drawl edged closer.

"You're embarrassing me, Potter. Look, I'm blushing! Who knew you reciprocated my crush?"

Harry turned to the smirking Malfoy, shaking his head blankly. He didn't even have a response.

"…my friends," He eventually muttered, "are complete and utter idiots."

"Tch, I could have told you that on day one." Malfoy rolled his eyes, grinning suddenly. "In fact, I distinctly remember _trying_ to tell you that."

Harry just stared at Malfoy's grin. He had never seen the blonde smile before, only his trademark smirk…and here he was, grinning as if he had just heard a joke. Grinning as if he wasn't a Malfoy. It softened his face, made him seem less…cruel.

Instead of replying, Harry pulled out his map, scanning it and sighing relief as the two dots returned to Gryffindor tower. Finally. Another dot, however, showed a pacing Pomfrey in the hospital wing, her movements growing more frantic by the moment.

"What's that?"

"A map."

"Let me see."

"No." Harry tucked it back into his pocket, grateful he had put his invisibility cloak there already and continued to the hospital wing. It took him a few corners to realise that Malfoy was following him.

"No, go away."

"Why? I already know you're heading to the hospital wing."

"Get lost, Malfoy."

"After I assisted you earlier? You owe me." Harry glanced at the aloof tone Malfoy was keeping, surprised when he grinned again. The twit was bloody enjoying himself!

"Why the sudden infatuation with me, Malfoy?" Harry really was curious. Malfoy had barely spoken to him all year, and when he did, he hardly swore or cursed him. It was…eerie. Uncomfortable. But, Malfoy, instead of answering, just shrugged, easily keeping up with Harry.

"I believe it was _you_ fraternizing with the enemy." Harry rolled his eyes, stopping as he glanced at the door of the hospital wing. He really _didn't_ want anyone in there. If demanding didn't work...

"I…I don't want you there. Please, can you just go?" Harry swallowed nervously, hoping it worked. Hell, he even tried his kicked puppy-dog eyes for a spin. Malfoy's grin slipped; he looked as disgusted as Harry felt.

"If you've resorted to _pleading, _Potter, it _must_ be good." He cocked his head to the side, the grin reappearing as Harry bit his lip. "You don't use magic anymore, not when you can avoid it; slightly dangerous in a school of witchcraft and wizardry, wouldn't you say?" Great, the blonde was stalking him more so than normal. If _he_ could catch on, had other people? "None of your 'friends' know either, so telling me would definitely repay your newly acquired debt."

"It doesn't count as a 'debt'."

"Anyway," Malfoy spoke as though Harry hadn't; his eyes glinted with amusement though. "I've always had an affinity to feeling special."

Harry sighed again, knowing that a determined Malfoy _wasn't _a good thing. He seemed to recall several death-eaters magically appearing in the centre of the castle, pun not intended. No, a determined Malfoy was to be avoided at all costs.

"I want to know what you're in denial about." Coming from anyone else, it would have sounded like a whine. Somehow, Malfoy made it a demand.

"No one knows, because I don't _want_ anyone to know." He didn't care that he had finally admitted that there _was _something to tell, because Malfoy barely blinked at the disclosure.

"I won't tell anyone."

"You're a Slytherin!" Harry burst out, his frustration getting the better of him. "And worse, a Malfoy!"

"…you saved my life, Potter." The amusement was gone. It was either fury or frustration, but Harry couldn't place which one. "In the burning room. I. Won't. Tell. Anyone…and anyway, you can't stop me from following you into the room."

Merlin, Harry knew he would regret this. Sighing once more, he turned and entered the room, not even waiting to see if Malfoy would follow him or not. There was no real reason to, either. Malfoy wouldn't let a chance such as this get away from him. Not in a million years.

Madam Pomfery was there in a second, waving her wand to lock the door and turning to point a finger at Harry, much like Ron had earlier. "You're _late_, Mr Potter! I was just about to go and search for you!"

Harry nodded, barely able to speak. "I…got caught up on my way here." He ended up mumbling out when it became clear that the matron wanted _some_ answer from him. She sniffed, turning to the bed to jerk to a stop, glaring at Malfoy.

"And why is Mr Malfoy here?" She asked coldly, raising her eyebrows as she regarded him. To Malfoy's credit, he just stared back, a mask of indifference on his face already. "It's past curfew; return to your room."

Harry smirked slightly, watching as Malfoy narrowed his eyes and glared at Harry when he remained silent. Harry said he could come, but he didn't say anything about staying after all.

"Go on! Shoo!" She snapped waving her hands at him as if he were some small child. Malfoy just threw a filthy snarl at Harry, rolling his eyes dramatically and stepping to the side before Harry spoke.

"Actually, I asked him to come." He intervened lightly. "I didn't want to be…I wanted company."

"…Mr Weasley or Miss Granger are not adequate company, are they?"

Harry stared at her for her tone, actually making her sniff as if embarrassed by what she had said before continuing. He expected this from students, not from the teachers too. "…I'm trying for inter-house unity."

Pomfery just continued to glare at Malfoy though, snapping back at Harry. "You _do_ remember what happened the _last time_ you tried that, don't you?"

"Yes, it worked!" Harry snapped back, frustrated and exhausted. He just wanted to be back in his room, asleep, ignoring all the nightmares to come.

If she was angry at his tone she didn't give any inclination. Her tone, however, remained cold. "It's your decision, Mr Potter. I would suggest you think carefully about who you bring, however; you stated that you didn't want the school to know?"

"Malfoy won't tell anyone." Harry replied warily, walking past her and the silent blonde to his bed.

God, the horrid machines were already hooked up and ready to go, taunting him as they sat there. Harry couldn't help but cringe, his feet screaming at him to stop, turn, and bolt. This was hell…and with an audience!

He shrugged out of his jumper and tossed it down uncomfortably. He watched as Malfoy approached the bed too, his eyes taking in everything.

"Did you take your potions today?"

"No."

"Good."

Harry watched as she connected a needle to his arm, taping it there before bustling to the other arm. The needles connected the machines to his arms, the thin tubes more repulsive than they seemed. They were going to instigate this…again.

Pomfrey waved her wand, and shackles appeared on the bed. Harry sighed again, allowing her to restrain his arms. She smiled apologetically at him, but he could barely see it. He wouldn't be able to move at all this time?

"…You almost ripped it out, last time." Pomfrey explained softly, "That could be potentially worse for you. It's imperative that we don't leave those potions in your systems. It would…worsen your current condition." She threw a glare at Malfoy before she continued speaking. "I'll start the machines in a moment. I need to double check…" She trailed off however, hurrying to her office to do only god knows what.

Leaving Harry shackled to the bed.

With Malfoy.

"…Why are there machines? They look…muggle." Harry sighed, turning to stare at Malfoy as he eventually spoke. He was standing near the bed, arms crossed and leaning against the wall, his face completely disinterested. His eyes, however, shone with curiosity.

"They are. Muggle, I mean. Um…Pomfrey explained it to me a while ago, they've been magically adapted to be used for our…purposes."

"Which are?"

Harry shuffled uncomfortably, clenching his teeth as the restraints didn't allow him to move much at all. "It's just diagnostic work. It just reports that everything is fine, working as it should…" He trailed off before trying again. "…there's still a chance for you to bugger off."

"And miss this?" He sounded as though he was told to skip Christmas. "Never." Malfoy conjured a chair, nice and comfortable looking, and plopped his feet up on the bed, completely at ease. As if he wasn't about to witness Harry being tortured.

Well, he didn't really know about that, did he?

"Are you going to give me an answer now, or are you still claiming healthy?"

"…Fine. You win." Harry had to roll his eyes to avoid the smug, self-satisfied expression on Malfoy's face. "I'm slightly sick." He ignored the overenthusiastic shock.

"I wouldn't have guessed!" Malfoy drawled, before cocking his head to the side. "_Slightly_, huh?"

"Do you _have_ to push every single bloody word?"

But the blonde just smirked, not allowing it to spread to another grin. It was a shame, he looked better when he grinned. "You're hooked up to _muggle_ machines; if you need a diagnostic report, there are spells that can do that."

"Not on a cellular level."

"…_Slightly_?" Malfoy's repeated, eyebrows still raised. "What do you have?"

The one question Harry didn't want asked. And, funnily, one he couldn't answer; he couldn't pronounce the word. "…I dunno what it's called. It's not important."

"Liar."

"Yup." It was finally Harry's turn to smirk as Malfoy's face dropped at his clear admission.

"Tell me."

"No."

Harry grinned, suddenly was the little battles that he was winning, but they still made him as giddy as if he had won a duel. The Slytherin git just made it too easy sometimes.

And then Pomfrey re-entered the room. She double checked the machines once more, nodding to herself.

No. Not already.

"Wait, wait a moment." Two sets of cool eyes spun to Harry, as if _curious _as to why he asked. It was acceptable for Malfoy, but Pomfrey's gaze just made him bristle with barely controlled anger. She, of all people, _knew. _ "…I mean, can you run by me what they do again?"

"…You've been in this process countless times, Mr Potter. This is the third since you've been back at school. The hospital even stated you had your first treatment there."

"I was knocked out for that." Harry pointed out, still quite irritated about how the hospital had only allowed him to be stunned for the first treatment. To ease his nerves. It was potentially dangerous if they did it again. Dangerous. Harry called bullshit on that! "And anyway…Malfoy doesn't know. And I've never really paid any attention." He was stalling, and everyone knew it.

Pomfrey indulged him. Well, she stared at his shoulder coolly for a moment. Then she continued to get him ready, ignoring the frustrated groan that escaped him.

"_This_ machine will send a potion through your system. It records any abnormalities." Great. She was supposed to be helping him avoid it for a few moments, not speed up the process _and_ inform Malfoy. "_This _machine will check your blood; clean it if it isn't alright. Okay?" She didn't wait for the nod, but switched on the machines. "I'll be in my office. Mr Malfoy…if _anything_ happens, get me _immediately_."

Harry clenched his eyes shut, cringing as both machines begun. The slight humming was nauseating, reminding him of what was to come. He glanced over to stare at both tubes. One was filling with red, taking his blood to clean it…the other was oozing a thick, black potion. _It_.

Harry watched as it made its way through the tube, jerking as it finally reached his skin. His fists clenched, ensuring his nails were cutting into his palms; anything to evade the feeling of the potion.

_It_ slid down his arm, a constant burning sensation, invasive and cruel. It slithered into his fingertips, holding a few seconds before inching forwards again. God, it _hurt_. His veins were burning, his hands shaking as the potion invaded his body. It searched his hand, shifting through veins and muscle to find anything to use against him, indifferent to the pain. _It_ liked pain, often trying to hurt him, before sliding down his body, trying to find a new section of muscle to abuse.

_It hurt._

Harry tugged at his wrist, his jaw snapping shut as he realised he couldn't move it an inch. He tried to breathe slowly, like he did every Tuesday, but it wasn't working. He could still feel _it_ in his hand, tugging at his bone, infecting him.

"You still alive there, Potter?" Oh. He had forgotten about the blonde. Damn.

It took a few moments to speak without seeming too pathetic. "…yeah…"

"Baby." Malfoy scoffed, his tone dismissing him immediately. "Did you end up finding the Daisyroot Draught?" He actually seemed curious. For anyone else it would have been believable.

"Hmm…yeah…alcohol…"

"No, it's sugar water. Real alcohol is cognac, vodka if you're desperate. Coloured water doesn't count."

Harry forced his eyes opened, staring at Malfoy with, he was sure, confusion written all over his face. Why was he being nice to him? They were chatting? _Really_? "…I wouldn't know…I only drink…argh!" Harry snapped his mouth shut, cutting off his cry as _it_ slithered through his elbow. Not here. He wasn't going to show _Malfoy_ any weakness. "_Butterbeer." _He managed to snap out, intent on ignoring _it _squirming through his arm.

Malfoy had waited patiently for him to finish however, only lifting his eyebrows and scoffing at him. "You haven't lived. Never had firewhiskey on top of the astronomy tower? Never played Wizard or Mudblood?"

"What… the…hell… is that?" Wizard or Mudblood? He definitely hadn't played that with Ron or Hermione before.

"It's a game. Used for recreational purposes when one is bored. Reliever of monotony."

Harry rolled his eyes, ignoring Malfoy's superior smirk. "_How …do you …play?_"

"You have to do whatever someone tells you. Tell them something. Do something. Prove you're a wizard. If you don't, you're dubbed Mudblood. And all the experienced players incorporate drinking in it. It's an excuse to get drunk, and get dirt on your housemates. It's okay." If Malfoy was ready for anything, he wasn't ready for Harry to snort with laughter, his eyes finally clearing of some of the pain, amusement taking its place. Firstly, Malfoy was babbling. Secondly…

"It's called… truth or …dare… It's a muggle game!" He managed to get out between chuckles, watching as Malfoy paled and stubbornly raised his chin higher.

"It's called Wizard or Mudblood." He repeated coldly, glaring as Harry chuckled again.

"Sure it is."

The potion wriggled up along his arm, resting on his shoulder. No. Not resting. Sitting there stabbing his shoulder, shifting through the muscle as if it wasn't connected to a bone underneath. He shrugged, wincing. Bad move. It stabbed harder, burning into his shoulder.

"…You not gone yet?"

"Doesn't look like it. Honestly Potty, you need new glasses. Sellotape went out in the fifties."

Harry just grimaced weakly, sighing as Malfoy turned his steel gaze on him again. Did Malfoy usually babble this much? "I'm guessing the Weasel and the Know-It-All don't actually know yet?"

Hell no! "They'd be…unbearable." Harry managed to get out, staring at Malfoy as if he was insane. Well, he was spending the night sitting here, so he probably was.

"Attention is a good thing."

"It's hell." Harry spoke clearly, raising his eyes to meet Malfoy's. Of one thing, _this_ he was sure on. And nothing Malfoy could or would say would persuade him otherwise.

The potion slithered into his chest, focussing on his heart.

Harry gasped, trying to move his hand up but they just _wouldn't move_. He jerked around, trying to dislodge the potion, trying to make it shift to the side. _FUCK! _

Harry growled, clamping his teeth onto his lips to try to displace the pain. Make it stop! _Make it stop! _The _thing_ tightened, strangling his chest. The _pain_! Dying was easier! Dying was _preferred!_

Red burned Harry's eyes, a thumping blocking out all noise. He could do nothing but notice the pain, plead with it to leave him alone. It was holding his heart, squeezing it and giggling with glee as Harry writhed on the bed. Each second was an hour.

The potion slid down to his stomach, kicking and tearing as it went.

Harry could only gasp, drawing in deep breaths as he suddenly remembered to breathe. He panted, shocked on the bed. Hands trembling, Harry swallowed tightly, wincing as his throat stung horribly. Slowly his gasping evened out, leaving his chest trembling instead as he panted.

He shifted, trying to sit up but winced again as the restraints kept him in place. _Those fucking restraints! _ Harry jerked his hand again, cringing as he felt it dig deeper into his skin. He wanted to sit up. He _needed_ to. Lying here was so _pathetic_.

Harry blinked roughly, trying to ease his stinging eyes as he saw the blurred outline of someone in front of him, hovering over him. He realised, with a frustrated start,that he was crying. Oh, fantastic! He blinked again, quickly clearing his eyes. He had _cried_ in front of Malfoy!

Harry stared pointedly at the ceiling, away from Malfoy. Said blonde git from hell slowly sat back down, as if in shock he was standing in the first place. Why _had_ Malfoy stood?

The next half an hour was spent in silence. Harry kept a focus on the blank ceiling, trying to think of a bluff that could get him out of this position but failing miserably. He pretended he could ignore the evil thing sliding around his body. Nothing hurt like his chest had, but it was _'smarting'_ all the same.

Harry cringed again as Malfoy was the first to break. "Potter, I don't fucking care if you're in denial or not. Tell me what the _fuck_ is wrong with you."

"It's…" Harry swallowed again, trying to wet his parched, throbbing throat. "…none of your…"

"Potter, I spent last year watching people get tortured, and didn't particularly want to see it again."

"I told you…to leave…" Harry reminded him, wincing as Malfoy growled and snarled at him. Welcome back old Malfoy that we all know and love.

"I wasn't expecting _that_. Some _warning_ could have been nice. Tell me what it's called."

"I told you… I don't know the name-"

"_If you don't tell me now,"_ Malfoy snapped, cold eyes glinting furiously, "_I'll head straight to Gryffindork Tower and tell the Weasel and the Mudblood." _Yes, he would.

Harry sighed again, hurriedly thinking it through. He could still refuse…it's not as if Ron would believe anything that Malfoy told him. Hermione would be a problem though.

This was just cruel. Harry thought sourly, pointedly not facing his rival as he thought. He couldn't even rub off the tear tracks, with his hands strapped down like this. Trust a Malfoy to use everything to his advantage.

The potion slithered up his left shoulder.

"They wouldn't believe you." Harry managed to mumble, trying to believe it himself.

"Wouldn't they?" Malfoy looked as if he were in his prime here. And he probably was, the conniving little ferret. "You sneak off every night, and when I enlighten them that you hardly do magic anymore, well, there's the chance that they might get suspicious. And if they get to the hospital wing _before_ you, well, that might be a little incriminating, don't you think? I'm sure I can convince the Know-It-All to take a trip into my pensive too. If I just leak it to the prophet, e_veryone _will start rumours. So many choices."

"What happened to not telling anyone?" Harry asked coldly, snarling at the blonde, who just shrugged his shoulders. He was unperturbed.

"Slytherin."

Harry opened his mouth to reply…and froze. Should he? To tell or not to tell? He could easily make it out to be…something different.

"Or," He said slowly, letting his plan develop before he said it, "I could convince them… I'm sneaking out to meet you." He let that sink in, smirking as Malfoy's eyebrows rose again and _shock_ flittered across his face. "Ron already thinks there's something going on."

"So I heard. However, there's one major flaw in your plan."

"Oh? And what's that?" Harry was thoroughly enjoying himself now, letting a small grin flit onto his face. The pain was easily ignored when he had an outlet, he discovered, and was determined to keep said outlet.

"You don't have the guts to do it." Malfoy smirked back, smug, conceited. Oh, really?

"You interrupted our conversation today, _coincidently_."

"Don't twist this, Potter."

"Well, I _did_ stand up for you the other day. Not the other Slytherins…_for you_." Harry continued, grinning again. "As for the hospital? I'm sure they have a Contact-Exemplifying-Potion in here somewhere; I even have the note to prove it."

Malfoy cocked his head to the side, amusement twinkling in his eyes again. "Very clever Potter." Harry allowed himself a quick chuckle. It didn't last long. "I'll play along if you do."

"_What?"_ It had to be a joke. The potion slid across his throat.

"I said I'll help convince them."

"Don't even joke about that!" That would be worse that telling him the damn name! _More _rumours would come out, the prophet would get involved_, it always did_, and there would be _no possible way_ for Ron to _ever_ start talking to Harry again. He didn't even like guys!

"Tell me the name, _Harry_." Malfoy purred, chuckling as Harry jerked to stare at him nervously. "Or I'll help develop our story. You know I can. And will. And I may not be as subtle about it as you might have planned."

"_Go to hell Malfoy." _

"Planning on it. Now, the name?" He retorted quickly, knowing already he had won. His bloody _arrogant_ face was just asking to be punched!

"I don't _want-"_

_"_Don't care."

Harry growled again, shaking his head hopelessly. "Why do you-?"

"_Enough _dodging the question!" Malfoy snapped, his irritating snapping out. _This_ was the Malfoy that they all knew and…well, hated. "Give me the bloody name or I'm going straight to the Weasel!"

Harry glowered at him, furious. However, when his glare did nothing but _amuse _the blonde ferret, he finally conceded, turning away to face the empty wing. Malfoy waited quietly, already won.

Eventually, Harry spoke softly.

"Succ…Succie? Argh! Succorbits?"

"Succorbentis?" Malfoy asked quietly, his face immediately hidden by that insufferable mask. He was no longer snappy, irritated, or even amused. He was a hollow blank.

Harry remained quiet, not wanting to speak ever again. "...You…you have Succorbentis?"

Harry sighed and nodded, still not trusting himself to speak. For once, Malfoy was in a shocked silence. He didn't even come up with a retort. Grabbing every reserve of confidence, Harry turned to meet Malfoy's wide-eyed stare. He wasn't blinking.

"For fuck sake, Malfoy! Stop staring at me like that!"

The blonde snapped his jaw shut, and finally took a blink. A single blink. "…you know it's an incredibly rare disease, right?"

"Yeah, I've heard about that."

"…you know incurable, right?"

"Not technically... But the last guy that got it…he was getting better, before, well, you know…he went insane…and his suicide..." Harry rolled his eyes at Malfoy's wide stare. He wasn't even acting like himself anymore! If _Malfoy _was going to be like this, everyone else was going to be insufferable! He didn't want, nor need, their pity. "Stop staring at me like that. It's creepy." He continued to stare. "_Stop it!" _

Malfoy went silent, his brow furrowed softly. "No wonder you're in denial."

It was said so quietly that Harry wasn't sure if he had heard it or not.

They remained in a strained silence for a few moments, neither looking at the other. Honestly, what do you say to a person that just found out that their rival was dy…sick? What do you tell a person after you've disclosed your illness? It wasn't as if they were friends, or could comfort one another.

Silence suited Harry fine. It was steadily becoming a friendly acquaintance.

"Why aren't you in hospital?" Not a great acquaintance of Malfoy's, however. Oh. Thirty seconds and he was back to normal? Well, not normal, normal Malfoy was a git…but how he had been today. Happy, odd, slightly eerie Malfoy. It hurt more than it should have, that he was shocked enough for an entire half a minute before deciding he didn't give a flying fuck if Harry was ill or not.

"I can take the medicine here, can't I? Hospital was driving me mad; they wear _lime green_ uniforms. _Bright lime green_." Malfoy smirked at that, slowly returning to the git he always was. "And there's _nothing to do_ in hospital. Anyway, I want to finish my NEWTs…or so I've told McGonagall."

Harry mumbled, sighing as Pomfrey came rushing from her office, double checking everything was okay as the last of the potion slithered back to the foul hole where once it came. As soon as it had left Harry's system she flicked the machine off, and started releasing his arms.

Harry groaned relief, glaring at the machine that held the potion as he slid on his jumper again, covering his sore arms from view. He had cuts where the restraints had held him, but apart from that, everything seemed okay. Just sore.

"What's wrong with my chest? It…hurt a bit." He ignored Malfoy's scoff next to him, instead waited for the answer a bit too intently.

"…nothing dear. That's where your magic resides; the heart is the heart of all magic. Now…I have to analyse and record this…I'll give them to you tomorrow."

Clearly dismissed, both boys quietly left the hospital wing, each one thinking of something to say and yet unable to say a single thing. They didn't speak as they went their separate ways.

Draco couldn't believe it.

Potter was dying.

It was incurable.

And no one except him knew.

He grit his teeth angrily, snarling at the portraits as he paced through the castle. He wanted to _scream_. Not from sadness, fuck no, but from _pure, unadulterated fury._ It was insufferable! The fucking injustice! _How _was _this_ fair?

After _everything_ that Potter had done, the universe was trying to kill him?!

There was _no one _as good a distraction as Potter was. How was he supposed to survive through this _monotony_ that had become his life if Potter was gone? 

_Merlin_, he wanted to _scream!_

Small explosions followed the seething blonde to the dungeons; if he couldn't shriek, everything would shatter instead.


	6. A New Hobby

I do not own anything here, nor am I making a profit from this. It is purely to pass my time, and hopefully, interest other people. J.K. Rowling owns Harry Potter, not me.

I'm sorry for the break between updating, this chapter was supposed to be up ages ago, but I actually got kicked out of home :( Fun, I know. hahaha, well, I've literally had internet again for an entire two hours, so this was the first thing I did. Please enjoy it :)

Thank you everyone for the great reviews! I don't have the time to write them out today, I'm borrowing a laptop as it is, but THANK YOU! You all make my day!

**Chapter Six - A New Hobby**

Harry watched as Malfoy slowly entered the hall, wishing to gods unknown that he would be _normal_ and sneer at Harry, crack a joke at his expense, any of the above. But _no_. Malfoy had to be the annoying twat he always was and always would be, didn't he?

Instead of snarling at him, or better yet pretend he didn't exist and last night didn't happen, he stared.

Just stared.

All through breakfast.

As if he didn't have anything better to do than make Harry as uncomfortable as possible. He didn't touch his food, didn't talk to his friends. He _just stared_. Calmly. Across the hall. No smile, no snarl, no raised eyebrow. Blank face, he watched Harry.

And Harry, who could never eat after the treatment the night before or else risk emptying his entire stomach across the breakfast table, could do nothing but stare back. Ron hadn't come down to breakfast at all, and though Hermione had, she had sniffed and nodded but not yet said a word. The on again off again friendship was _really _pissing Harry off, but he could do nothing but wait for them to start acting normal again. And until then, he had an unamused blonde git that wouldn't stop looking at him.

Why didn't he just hold up a neon sign?

Harry sighed, moving his food around aimlessly. He really should have thought through last night better. Who the hell would allow their enemy and rival to sit through and watch _that_, a moment of clear weakness? And, now, he knew that Harry couldn't use magic at all. He knew his Achilles' heel.

Harry was fucked.

However, there was no staged whispering as he had entered that morning. And no one seemed to look at him twice. So what the hell? Why was Malfoy biding his time before he told? Because being a Slytherin and a Malfoy left no disguise that he _would_ tell _someone_, and that it was only a matter of time before he did. But seriously, why wait?

Harry glanced up again, rolling his eyes at Malfoy heatedly. What the hell was he thinking? He grabbed a piece of parchment from his bag, scribbling on it furiously.

"What are you doing, Harry?" Hermione asked curiously, but Harry just shifted it slightly, making sure she couldn't read his scrawl.

"Nothing."

_Find yourself a new hobby._

Harry folded his note, then paused. How the hell was he supposed to get it to the git if he couldn't magic it over there? There was no owl this time, and he doubted his mates would lend theirs. Glancing at Hermione's slightly furrowed face again, he turned back to Malfoy, lifting up the note with his eyebrows high.

"_Harry_, what are you doing?" Hermione hissed again. She sounded so…disappointed. _Why?_

Thankfully Malfoy was bright, though Harry would never admit it to his face, for the note snatched from his fist, flinging across the room and landing in the blonde's waiting hand. Harry ignored all the whispers now as Malfoy read the note, smirking before popping it into his pocket. Did he _have_ to do that to all the notes? It worked, however, as he turned his face away and instead began muttering to Parkinson. _Finally. _

"…Can you _speak_ to me, Harry?"

Oh, he had completely forgotten about Hermione.

Wishing he didn't have to, Harry turned back to his bushy haired friend, groaning already at her expression. "Another _joke_, was it Harry?"

"And if it was?" He replied dryly, sinking to lay his head on his arms. He hadn't slept well last night, he never did on Tuesday's anymore. If he was to be entirely honest, most nights through the week. But, honesty wasn't really Harry's policy right now.

"…Harry…just…"

Harry winced as something whacked into his face, none too gently. What the hell? A paper plane lay on his plate, obviously directed right to his eye. Across the hall the Slytherins chuckled to themselves. Honestly, why were _they _fine with the two boys communicating, and yet the _loyal_ house of Gryffindor wasn't?

Hermione was overlooked as he read the note.

_I'm perfectly content with my current hobby. You, however, need to stop gawking at me. _

That insufferable little twat! Harry snorted as he shoved the note away, shaking his head and glaring at the Slytherin. A few of them were chuckling to themselves, seeing Harry obviously flustered by the note. Even if they didn't know what it was about, they were siding with Malfoy. Maybe the hat had gotten it wrong all along…the house of green seemed more steadfast from where he was sitting. Day by day it was proven.

Harry snatched up another piece of paper, scribbling down another remark. However, it was snatched away before he was done, a now blatantly amused Malfoy again catching it.

_It's_ _creepy_

_That's _all he managed to write before it was taken away. It's creepy. He was _going _to go on a rant, and maybe throw in a few delicately chosen swears, but no. He only managed a pathetic, _'it's creepy'. _Roars of laughter erupted from the end of the hall, Harry rolling his eyes and struggling to control his rapidly growing grin.

Malfoy grabbed the note back from a laughing Nott, rolling his eyes as if irritated, but his smirk said otherwise. He tucked that note away as well, his other hand already replying.

_"Harry!" _

Harry caught the next plane, this one _not_ trying to gauge out his eye. He unfolded it hastily.

_That's why you love me. _

He barely had time to laugh at the bloody winky face Malfoy had drawn at the end of the sentence before the paper was ripped from his hand furiously.

"_Give it back!" _Harry lunged for the note but missed as Hermione leapt from the bench, standing just out of reach as her eyes skimmed it. It only took a heartbeat before her face dropped coldly. Without a word she tossed the note back to him, not even facing him, and spun around to storm from the hall.

Harry snatched back the note, shoving it into his pocket. His mood had disintegrated in that one second. Fantastic. The first time he had felt purely _happy_, and it had been taken away from him. Again.

Sighing, he warily stood, noticing how most of his classmates were avoiding his eyes again. Because they were angry with him, a reoccurring theme lately…or because of the red haired fiery demon from hell that was storming up to him. Wand in hand.

Harry turned and hurried to the doors, hoping to avoid this particular fight for a while yet. Apparently not, as she she-demon grabbed his arm and spun him around, dark eyes glistening with unshed, furious tears. "_What the hell are you doing?" _She demanded, flinging a disgusted look at Harry before gesturing to the Slytherins. All of whom, Harry was sure, was watching his new spectacle with interest.

"Can we _not_ do this here?"

"You've been avoiding me like the plague." Ginny hissed, tossing her hair behind her shoulder furiously, "And, apparently, for a pack of _Slytherins_!"

"I've been avoiding you-" Harry began, but she didn't let him get in another word.

"Because you've turned into this…this _coward_! Where has the _real_ Harry gone? Huh?" She demanded, jabbing him with a finger. "Where is the Harry that would have actually _turned_ _up _to my brother's funeral? Where is the Harry that wouldn't give the snakes a light of day? Where is the Harry that _loved_ me?!"

Harry swallowed tightly, staring at the livid girl and not knowing what he could possibly say. Where was that Harry? He was dead. He was in the hospital, having treatment the day of George's funeral. He was unconscious, not knowing what day it was or whether he was hanging upside down or right side up…the only thing that resisted was _pain_, and when he had awoken to find out he had missed the funeral, he couldn't show his face without telling them _why_. So Harry had stayed away. The Harry that ignored the Slytherins was gone the moment he had realised that they were as innocent as every other student in the school. He had realised they were kids, just like him. And the Harry that had loved Ginny…he had left the moment he had said goodbye to her before he went into hospital. You couldn't love someone if you were going to die months later. You just couldn't.

So Harry remained silent, letting Ginny scowl, her temper mounting at each passing second.

"_Harry!" _Her voice demanded an answer.

Harry opened his mouth, his chest sinking as he decided to finally speak, when he was over spoken again. Not by Ginny.

"The art of subtleness evades you again, Potter."

Harry warily turned to the blonde git, noticing his amusement was gone even though his smirk stayed glued to his unnaturally pale face. "How many fights in the public eye is this now? Let's see…There was the one after potions, first day back…"

"Malfoy, not now-" Harry began guardedly, but he wasn't even glanced at as Malfoy continued his little rant.

"You had _another _little tiff in the hall, which led to you trying to push some poor moron down a flight of stairs." Malfoy smirked, counting off on his fingers. "There was the quidditch scuffle, we can't forget _that_, now can we? The bellowing at midnight…and, of course, the mini-debacle here, which, might I add, is going to evolve beautifully as soon as I-"

"_Shove off, Malfoy!_" Ginny snapped, spinning around to jab her wand threatening at him. "This has _nothing_ to do with you, so get your greasy head out of your own arse, and _fuck off!" _

Harry groaned inwardly, wishing he were anywhere but here. However, Malfoy just smirked again, raising his eyebrows. He turned to Harry, a hint of the amusement flickering back to life inside his impossibly grey eyes. "Come with me, Potter."

A simple sentence, no snide or sarcasm involved at all. And yet, Harry was cringing before it was finished. Ginny spun back around, locking her glare with Harry instead, warning him not to take a step. Malfoy just waited, his trademark smirk in place. They were playing a dangerous game of tug-a-war, and Harry was not the least bit impressed. He had to make a choice…Merlin, but he really didn't want to.

No one moved.

Ginny was his friend, one he had considered marrying after the war…and yet, he had no claim on her now. He couldn't allow himself to get caught up in romance and making her happy, knowing full well that in a few months, she would be miserable again. Malfoy, however, was a different story. He knew the truth, and could very well hold it over Harry…as he was doing now. If Harry _didn't _step over to him, the entire hall would know within seconds. Harry was a complete and utter idiot for letting Malfoy come last night! Who the bloody hell would _do _that? Did he not _think_? Was it already affecting his brain?

"_It shouldn't be that difficult, Harry!" _Ginny snarled viciously, her face dropping into shock as Harry finally stepped. Next to Malfoy.

"Sorry, Gin…I'll…explain one day…" He couldn't even give her a proper excuse.

With the weight of every bloody eye in the hall on them, Harry and Malfoy left the hall, willingly, side by side.

.

.

.

Harry only waited for the doors to swing shut behind them before rounding on the _still smirking_ twit. "What the _bloody hell_ was that? Do you _like _destroying me life?" He all but shouted, growling as Malfoy answered smugly.

"Well, yes, it does have its charms." He rolled his eyes at Harry though, as if slightly irritated. "I would have thought you would be thanking me, rolling in gratitude and all that."

"Gratitude?" Harry spluttered out, following Malfoy towards the staircase unwillingly. "For _what?_ You just made me pick between _you_ and my best friend's sister!"

"I was getting you out of an undesirable situation."

"If I had needed your help, I would have asked for it!" Harry snapped, "I'm not _that_ pathetic that I need _you_ to step in and defend me!"

"You're getting there." Malfoy retorted smugly, "It was an insufferable spectacle. I was saving you face." Harry jerked to a stop, blinking at the suddenly confused Malfoy. "You coming, Potter?"

"…Why are you being…_nice_ to me?" He asked, frowning angrily, "You hate me. I hate you. There should be nothing to change that. I mean, talking? Exchanging jokes? Notes? What the hell are you doing?"It wasn't even half true. Harry hadn't hated Malfoy in weeks, but he didn't need to know that.

The Slytherin remained quiet for a moment, judging and considering an answer. It wasn't until Harry shuffled uncomfortably, though, the he replied dryly. "Do I _need_ a reason to be _nice_, Potter? Can't I just be trying that inter-house unity shit?"

"If this is about last night," Harry said quietly, glancing around to indeed ensure they were alone. "Then drop it now. I don't need your pity, I don't _want _it. I just want you to be _normal_."

"It's not about last night-" Malfoy cut in, scowling as Harry immediately cut _him_ off in turn. He couldn't expect Harry to just sit and take this shit, could he? Hadn't he been paying attention the past six years?

"Then get over yourself! I don't recall asking for you company, I _definitely _don't recall asking you to be pathetically _nice_ to me, and I don't recall asking you to follow me around like I'm some sad little charity project! You're acting as if I were dying-!"

"You have Succ-"

"You don't know what you're talking about!"

Malfoy glared frustrated at Harry, before continuing. "You have the _flu," _He stated loudly and sarcastically, pushing all the bloody wrong buttons on Harry, "You, of all people, should know the-"

"I don't care about any of that shit!" Harry snapped, "And neither should you! _Yesterday is history, Malfoy!_"

"No, that's what Pensives are for." He snapped back, hands twitching as if he wanted to grab his wand. Oh, just try it!

"I'm not explaining this to _you_!" Harry exclaimed, shoving past Malfoy and storming down the stairs, towards the entrance. "You're Malfoy!"

"And yet, the only one that knows of your…condition." Harry spun around again, clenching his fists furiously.

"Not by choice."

"Really? I distinctly recall Pomfrey demanding I leave, and yet, you interfered. Out of preference, wasn't it?"

Harry growled again, storming into the yard and crossing to his favourite tree near the lake. "Seriously Malfoy, find a new hobby. A new outlet. Just _leave me alone._"

"Maybe it's _you_ that needs to find a new outlet." Malfoy replied easily, finally stopping his stalking and cocking his head to one side. "Moping around about how unfair life is and snapping at everyone that invades your bubble is _very_ attractive."

Harry spun around again, about to bellow at the slimy git about the _unfairness_ of life, but he was already gone. The unbearable little twat! How _dare_ he try to lecture Harry? _He_ had just ensured yet _another_ fight with his friends, and the git had the audacity to tell Harry to grow up? Did he realise how hypercritical he was?

Harry tossed down his books and slid against the tree, muttering to himself. What new outlet? What the hell was he_ supposed_ to do? He couldn't use magic, and he had turned down the offer to play on the quidditch team. His friends weren't talking to him, and, oh yeah, he had this fucking disease that was trying to kill him. What fucking _outlet?_

He hadn't lived his life yet. _That's _why he was so angry. _He hadn't had a chance to fucking LIVE_ _yet!_

_…_

_So, do that. _

Harry blinked at the thought, having no idea where it had come from. Wasn't that what he was doing? Living like he usually did at Hogwarts? But no, this year was completely different. Everyone was angry and hurt still from the war. Everyone had short fuses. And he just spent his time as a hallow mimic of his usual self.

Harry slowly reached over and grabbed his quill and some parchment. A new outlet, huh?

He dipped the quill in some ink, hesitated once more before scribbling a heading across the page.

_The List _

Maybe Malfoy wasn't as incredibly stupid as Harry had always made him out to be…this could be fun. Harry shook his head as he smiled slightly, unaware that he was even doing it. He was actually excited about this…it would be his and his alone, no one would know about it. He was going to _live_ a little; do all the things he had desperately wanted to, but was denied whilst growing up, both with the Dursleys and with the war.

And there was so much he wanted to do!

But…he wouldn't be allowed to put them all down, he thought sullenly, thinking of Ginny. He didn't know how long his fucking _thing_ would allow him to still function. So, it had to only be things he _could_ actually achieve…and within the Hogwarts grounds. That limited his choices dramatically.

Harry sighed again, thinking. What did he want to do before…with his life?

He glanced at the paper, tossing it aside and got a new one. He wasn't allowed to fall in love, it would be unfair. But…there were certain things that he hadn't done yet. He had never really gone further than kissing Ginny, and the prospect of dying a virgin made him quite pathetic, even in his head. Okay, that was number one.

It was steadily easier after that. He thought about how his friends were angry at him, and jotted a few down. He thought about everything he had been denied as a child, and the list grew. Ideas flew to mind that would make him laugh or smile, like he wanted to again.

It occurred to him that he was smiling a lot more when he was talking or fighting with Malfoy, and whilst that unnerved him…it couldn't be a bad thing, right? So, Harry wrote down a point about the Slytherin Prince.

Eventually, his list grew…and then he couldn't think of any more. So, instead of wasting the last half hour of his study period, Harry re-wrote the list, grabbing his first parchment and jotting them down in importance order.

He stared at the finished product, incredulous that a soft smile was stretching across his face again. He was such a sad person.

Well, he had found his new hobby. Let's see if Malfoy found his.

.

.

.

Harry walked into Potions, hesitating as every gaze flickered to him. Oh, they were _not_ happy. Even some of the Slytherins, namely Goyle, looked furious that Harry had decided to come to class today, as if they were all expecting him to hide away again. Well, he couldn't do that, now could he? After all, according to number 2 on his list, he wasn't allowed to regret anything. Not anymore.

Something that was definitely easier said than done, Harry decided anxiously as guilt decided to cling to his stomach. _Definitely _easier said than done. It looked as if Hermione was physically restraining Ron from bounding to his feet, and even Seamus and Dean looked a bit peeved. Well, Dean looked as livid as Ron, with Seamus nodding and hurrying to placate him. It seems that Ginny had already spoken to them. Great.

Harry silently crossed to his desk, ignoring the usual snarls that drifted from Goyle and quickly got his books out. Malfoy spun swivelled in his chair for a moment, coolly regarding Harry, or perhaps waiting for his thanks or apology before swinging back to Zabini, muttering to him. Oh, fantastic. Harry was making friends with _everyone_ today.

And as annoying as it was, Harry felt a buzz of irritation flicker as Malfoy ignored him for the next few minutes. He was the _sole_ person that was still talking to Harry, and _now_ he had decided the cold shoulder was the best option?

"Oi, Malfoy," Harry waited with little patience as the blonde turned to him, his smug eyebrows raised as usual, cold eyes glinting. But before he could speak, Slughorn burst into the room, smiling brightly.

"Well, how is everyone going with the homework? Friday is the cut-off, you know."

Harry sunk back in his seat, trying not to glare at the excited teacher as he laughed at the Gryffindor efforts to find out what Daisyroot was. If only they had had a thought to ask Harry…

"No, no, no! You're all looking in the wrong places!" He chortled, turning to the other side of the room. "How is this side fairing? And better than the Gryffindors? Ten points to all who already found it!" Mutters of complaints whispered across the room as the Gryffindors complained, but Slughorn pretended not to hear. That, or he was plain deaf.

"We all have it." Zabini sighed, shoving a piece of paper to their teacher so he could read it rather than saying it allowed for the class to hear. "It was…quite simple, really. Mundane even." He couldn't resist a sneer at the red side of the room, chuckling to himself as their sudden death glares were directed to him.

"Oh, I must try harder next time!" Slughorn chuckled, turning expectantly to Harry. "What of you, my boy? Have you found the answer yet?"

As much as Harry wanted to smirk at them and show Slughorn his answer, and get the praise that had been denied him these past weeks, he couldn't. He, technically, hadn't found the answer…and they would think Malfoy had given it to him, despite what he would say. It was true, but regardless, Harry felt he had bloody earned the answer! He had risked his limbs to get it!

"…Not yet, sir… I think I'm close, but not yet." Slughorn sighed, turning back to right on the board as the Gryffindors smirked at one another. They were all _so smug._

"Well, what are you all waiting for? Get to, get to! I want a _perfect_ euphoria by the time class ends!"

Harry was able to blot out his thoughts as he worked on the potion, taking care to follow the instructions and not rile up the already glowering Goyle.

"Really, Potty, you're truly an imbecile, aren't you?" Harry sighed again, slowly turning to face an incredulous blonde and a smirking Zabini, both watching him curiously. "Did you not understand my incredible _subtle_ hint yesterday?"

Harry, feeling his face heat up as _all_ the Slytherins started chortling at him, leaned closer to the amused blonde, raising his _own_ eyebrows. "It's sugar water, as I've been graciously informed. Not even allowed to be called real alcohol. The same guy who made it made several strongsleeping solutions; he fancied being in an unconscious stupor. So no, Malfoy, _not_ incredibly imbecilic."

"Why didn't you just tell Slughorn, then?" Harry blinked in shock as Zabini spoke to him, seeming genuinely curious. He nodded towards the Gryffindors. "Knock that smugness off their ugly faces?"

"Because, I didn't want to get them points." Harry muttered, turning red as Malfoy snorted and rolled his eyes.

"Real mature, aren't you?"

"You just rolled your eyes at me; you don't get to call me immature."

Malfoy just smirked though, amusement finally seeping back into his eyes. "What did you want?" Oh.

Harry had to physically restrain _himself_ from rolling his own eyes now, and from the smirk that covered Malfoy's face, the bastard knew it. "…nothing. Just wondering if you found yourself a new outlet yet."

Malfoy glanced at the approaching Slughorn, slowly letting his eyes drift back to Harry, considering him. Eventually, though, he replied, as if he didn't mind the fact everyone could see him blatantly _not_ completing the potion. In fact, he seemed to thrive on the attention. Of course he would, immature brat that he was.

"…Don't think I will." _That_ was what he had waited to say? Three words and that's it? He bloody well _thrived_ on the dramatics.

Goyle grumbled under his breath as they worked on the potion, his small eyes never leaving Harry's face. He didn't even check measurements, just continued to scowl at the brunette. The boy seemed to have a personal vendetta against Harry, which was blatantly obvious as he cut closer and closer to Harry's hand, no pretence on being inconspicuous. Even more so when Harry had to literally pick up his stool and shuffle a few paces away from him to not be stabbed by the stocky boy.

Harry didn't know where the friendliness had appeared from, with the Blonde Git From Hell, but it was very unnerving at how _easy_ it was to talk to him…fairly easy, considering that they had loathed each other's guts for the past seven years. But then, thought Harry a bit pathetically, he might just pity a dead man walking. He _had_ reacted oddly last night, after all.

It was too confusing.

Harry was just going to focus on completing his list, and not the changing personalities of Malfoy. No matter how lonely it would get, being ignored by the _entire_ school faculty. Why had he even brought up the 'hobby' again anyway? He had decided to follow that path alone, hadn't he? Literally twenty minutes ago too.

Harry sighed again, the action quickly becoming his signature move. It all was too hard. He was just relieved he now had an 'outlet'. Forget about the oddness with Malfoy, or whatever weird game he was playing, just remember the list. Malfoy wasn't important.

"Shit!"

Harry jerked off his stool in surprise as suddenly an explosion shattered the room, potion splattering everywhere. He jerked backwards quickly, avoiding the volatile mess that was quickly destroying the classroom. The class erupted with screaming, the Gryffindors chuckling while the Slytherins and Harry bolted backwards.

"Fuck. _Fuck. FUCK!" _

_"_Mr Malfoy, that type of language…oh, my boy, oh!"

Harry, and the rest clothed in green scurried backwards, slowly inching around the sickly potion on the floor and eyeing the eerie green gas that unexpectedly hung in the air above their cauldrons. Slughorn was tapping, clearly in distress and not sure what he should do, so they hurried over to him instead…and froze.

Malfoy and Zabini were both sprawled on the floor, their potion splattered across the both of them. Their hands covered their faces, knuckles white with rage or pain. Harry felt sick, just glimpsing at the two of them; the potion was _sizzling_ their skin, burning _through _them if it could. Malfoy made to move his hand from his cheek before snarling with pain, quickly replacing it…not quick enough, for Harry to catch a glob of _something _splatter onto the stone floor. With another glance, he had to leave the room, needing fresh air…that had better not have been their skin that had melted, it had just better not have been.

The next second the door flew open again, Zabini, Malfoy and Parkinson all sprinting off towards the Hospital Wing no doubt, both boys barely comprehensible as they snarled and whimpered all at once. Merlin, and Harry had been having a good day.

He gulped in fresh breaths, trying to forget the visual of Malfoy's _face_ melting off, before the door slammed open again, his classmates quickly filling the hall. Slughorn followed them, for once looking quite angry, almost as nervous as the night Harry had asked for the memory of horcruxes.

"Get out! All of you! This…_abomination_ will _not_ be repeated, understand? In _my_ class? _Mine?_ Get out! I don't want to see your faces!"

Well, it seemed he wasn't about the fact two students were injured, merely that it had sabotaged his class. Truly a Slytherin after all.

The Gryffindors quickly dispersed, almost as if they had apparated, all quite keen to get away from the crime scene. Which, however, left an awkward Harry standing next to Nott and Goyle.

Goyle simply grunted, turning and disappearing without a backwards glance, leaving the two quite uncomfortable in the corridor. Nott was watching Harry with a level stare, whilst Harry shifted around and tried, and failed, to give one back. If he spun around now and walked off it would just be awkward, and that glare made it so he didn't even think of moving yet. Eventually, Nott spoke though, clearly curious. Like all the Slytherins lately, apparently.

"It wasn't you, was it?" He asked, then spoke before Harry could get a word out. "No, I don't think you would tell me, even if it wasn't. If you could reconcile with the Gryffindors, it would benefit everyone, I think. You're not a Slytherin, just leave us all alone." And with that, he was gone again. Leaving Harry to stand perplexed in the corridor. What the hell?

That was just strange. Malfoy messing up a potion was even stranger. Someone, some pathetic _child_ from Harry's house had put something dangerous into the cauldron, and when Harry found out who, they would wish to never have even _thought_ of messing with the Slytherins.

Neville, Dean, Seamus, Hermione, Ron or Parvati.

Which one? All friends, all good people…all wishing they had bloody saved him a seat that first day in class.

.

.

.

Malfoy was an arrogant twat, a hypochondriac that tried to pull out illnesses for as long as bloody possible. Madam Pomfrey had regrown all the bones in Harry's arm once before, repairing a little skin would be nothing for her. The reason he didn't come to double Transfiguration, and even dinner, was because of his stubbornness for creating drama from a mosquito bite; a slight sting to be forgotten within minutes, which was simply not the Malfoy way. He would draw it out painfully, and let everyone hear his tantrum. That was what Harry told himself, at least.

He was not worried for the blonde git, oh hell no. He wasn't worried in the slightest.

Which was why, for reasons completely and utterly unknown to him, Harry was standing outside the hospital wing, debating whether or not to go in. He really shouldn't, it was midnight after all…and they didn't even like each other! A couple notes and a smile every now and again did _not_ suddenly make them friends. No, Harry was here for his daily potions, and that was it.

His hand reached up to push the door open…and hesitated. They weren't going to be awake, were they? Malfoy knowing about Harry's predicament was bad enough, but if Zabini discovered it too it would be hours, if that, for the entire school to know. Secrets weren't kept long in this school.

Before Harry had a chance to pull the handle down, however, the door was jerked open, a huffy nurse blinking surprised that he stood there.

"What are you doing _staring_ at the door? Come in, come in!"

Harry was bustled into the room quickly, shoved mercilessly onto a bed as she started thrusting potions at him to swallow. He barely had time to glance around the room for either Slytherin before she was forcing his head back, trying to drown him by force-feeding.

"Alright, alright! I'm doing it!" The nurse didn't look relieved, instead glared at him until she was certain every drop had made its way into his mouth. Even then she looked as if she didn't believe he had drunk the potions, because he didn't grimace at the taste. It took a few minutes of repeating 'I'm used to the taste' for Pomfrey to finally sniff and leave, telling him to wait for them to settle for a little bit before returning.

After _that_ spectacle, Harry hoped to past wizards known and unknown that both boys were asleep.

"She doesn't trust you, does she?" The ancestor wizards loathed him as much as the Universe did.

"Apparently not." Harry replied dryly, glancing at the door the witch had disappeared through before edging off his bed, making his way slowly to the occupied ones. Zabini, at least, was asleep, covered in his blankets and slowly mumbling through his dreams. Malfoy sat up though; eyes alert and not even the slightest bit drowsy. His face, _thank Merlin_, was healed. Pale, a bit raw, but not dripping off in clumps anymore.

Harry must have sighed relief, for Malfoy's eyebrows raised, face expressionless. "Worried? I'm touched."

"Not about you," Harry shook his head, hurrying on as Malfoy's eyes glinted dangerously. "I mean, not like that, I was worried, not for you, but, you know, for your face-"

"Oh. My face is my only redeeming quality?" Okay, the blonde was definitely angry, his tone in harsh snips. The usual bright grey had hardened into slicing silver daggers.

"No! I mean, I was worried _for_ your face, that Pomfrey wouldn't put it right, and you'd be scarred-"

"I'm only good to talk to when I have a pretty face, is that it? _Leave, Potter._"

"No! I mean, it's just…" Harry sighed, running a hand through his hair as he tried to think of a way to get his point across. When nothing came to mind, however, and the blonde just continued to glare at him frostily, he gave up. Sighing heavily, Harry shook his head, blatantly not making eye contact. "Yeah, I was worried."

"You really should stop talking when you're ahead; have you ever been told that?" Though the tone was sarcastic, it was also dramatically less harsh than a few moments ago.

"Yeah, at least twice a day. I start babbling, and –"

"Apparently."

Harry bit his lip to try to stop the grin break out again, wondering when he had started feeling comfortable to talk to Draco Malfoy of all people. "Yeah, so…she fixed your face?"

"As eloquent as ever." Malfoy smirked, rolling his eyes, but he nodded just the same. "You were lucky she was able to fix it; I had no nose for a moment there."

The image of Draco…_Malfoy _without a nose wasn't a pleasant one. It made Harry wince just to think of it, so he hastily changed the topic. "What do you mean, I'm lucky?"

"I mean now I don't have to hunt down every Gryffindork that catches my eye and mutilate them until their faces matched mine." The amusement was gone from Malfoy's face a second after it appeared. Emotions hidden by that mask of his, Harry was certain he wasn't joking. His classmates were lucky that it wasn't permanent, because he had no doubts that Malfoy wouldn't have stopped with their noses if his couldn't be retrieved.

"I still can't believe they did it." Harry knew that they were angry, there was no doubt about that, but to go _this_ far? He stepped closer to the bed, ignoring Draco's, _Malfoy's,_ raised eyebrows as he sat on the edge. "Inkpots and jinxes are one thing, _this_ is another."

"No Slytherin has ever mentioned inkpots, Potty." Harry turned red as Malfoy smirked, evident curiosity crossing his face. Not wanting to answer the obvious question about to be asked, Harry pressed on quickly.

"Did you see who did it?"

Malfoy smirked, not oblivious for a second to what Harry and tried and failed to do. "I'll humour you." He replied dryly, watching as Harry turned darker red in the gloomy room before continuing, his tone haughty. "Just as I've told Pomfrey, and McGonagall, I did not see the assailant. I was going to ask _you_ who it was." He didn't ask, but he was clearly waiting for the answer impatiently. He would have to wait a little longer.

"I don't know who it was," Harry said slowly, shaking his head, "Do any of them hold a grudge against you? I mean," He hastily covered as Malfoy scoffed, incredulous, "do any of them hate you other than being the complete prick you always are?"

"I can think of a few things." Malfoy said airily, "Most of last year, to be perfectly honest."

"You were hardly there last year. You were at the manor."

"I was at school, for a few months."

"I didn't see you."

Harry wanted to go to the nearest wall and slam his head against it. That, or chop off his tongue. No one except Ron and Hermione knew of the connection between him and Voldemort, and that was how it was going to stay!

Shit, now Malfoy looked more curious than ever. Fantastic. "I mean, I didn't hear of you."

"Swing and a miss."

"Forget it."

"Not likely." Harry stood abruptly, swallowing and glancing towards the door. He couldn't have made his needed escape more clear, but Malfoy looked unperturbed. "Find out who it was." He asked, not even trying to put on an air of innocence. "I need to repay the favour."

"I'm not helping you massacre my friends."

"Oh, but they're not your friends, not anymore." Harry didn't glance at Malfoy as he left, but his words echoed through his head. They had remained his friends for the past seven years; they wouldn't abandon him now, not when he needed them most. Not until he needed them to.

"Night, Potter."

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.

.

Harry blinked against the sunlight, his eyes gritty and sore. He hadn't slept last night, making that now two days relatively sleepless. He was going make a new record one of these days, and stay awake for the entire week. He wondered how many pepper-up potions you would need to take in order to accomplish that.

Movement to his left had him sigh and drag himself up from where he was sitting, watching quietly as Neville clambered down the stairs and froze, swallowing as Harry's cold eyes followed him.

"Morning, Neville." Harry said quietly, effectively freezing him to the spot. Though he had lost his baby fat from the war, and was usually confident and praiseworthy now, he stilled when Harry spoke. Slowly nodding, the tall boy hesitated again before coming over to Harry, sinking into the next chair and glancing at him worriedly.

"You don't look so good, Harry." He eventually said quietly, taking in Harry's rumpled uniform and possibly bloodshot eyes. "Are you sleeping alright?"

"Fine, mate, fine." Harry made an effort to not look so angry, instead steadied himself. If he was going to do this, and only Merlin knew why he felt like he had to, he had to do it right. He couldn't smile at his friend though, as though physically unable to. He had taken control after Harry had left, they all trusted him now. Did he know how quickly they would turn on him? "Uh…how were your holidays?" It was the first time in weeks since he had asked, and felt guilt biting at the insides of his stomach for simply not caring.

Neville had jumped with surprise, a disbelieving look passing across his face before he delved into the reconstructing of Hogwarts and the crucial redevelopment he had played with the greenhouses. It was Harry's turn to blink in surprise; he didn't know that Neville had helped to rebuild Hogwarts, he didn't know that they had taken volunteers to do so. When he commented on it, Neville looked disappointed again, slightly wary.

"We all did; Dean and Seamus and _all of us. _Even Ron and Hermione. Mostly we cleaned to halls, took away the rubble and salvaged what we could. I worked with Professor Sprout with the Greenhouses, but the others worked wonders trying to rebuild it in time for September. But, I don't think you stopped me to talk about that."

Harry swallowed tightly, not even knowing about it. All of them had worked together to rebuild his home, their home…without him. He hadn't known, and so hadn't helped. Some hero he was, to murder, and leave the mess for others to clean up. "I…I would have come…" He managed to mumble, but Neville was already shaking his head.

"We couldn't get in contact with you, none of us…we tried, but we just didn't know where you were. You have no idea how…" It looked like a struggle to cut himself off, but Neville did, finally. He bit back the obvious retorts he wanted to spit out, evidently just as angry as the rest of them. Harry had waited for him to come down because he had figured he would have been the most willing, but apparently not. "What did you want me for, Harry?" Not unfriendly, but not friendly either. The biting sensation wriggled through Harry's gut again, taunting him.

"Fine." If Neville was going to be blunt, so was Harry. "Who ruined Malfoy's potion?"

If Neville was wary before, now pure suspicion controlled his features. "Why?"

Why? _Why? _Harry was wondering that himself. "Because it was dangerous," He spat instead, frowning at his mate. "And because it could have seriously hurt him!" Whoa, where had _that _come from? Harry didn't give two tosses whether or not Malfoy was hurt.

Neville controlled his face, only the edges of anger getting out. "You can't try to get back at them, Harry-"

"He was minding his own business." Harry snapped back.

_"_Be quiet, Harry." Neville warned, standing up as if just to tower over the brunette. Harry launched to his feet too, noticing how Neville clutched his wand. His own lay disregarded, and Harry smirked as he saw that flicker over his friend's face. Let him make of it as he willed. "You weren't there last year. You have no idea how awful it was. They're all angry, I get that. You should too; just let them heal."

Fury trickled along Harry's being, screaming at him to punch his friend, to wail on him and _scream_. Instead, Harry had to make to with barely restraining his voice into a murderous snarl. "_Don't…talk to _me_ about healing…"_ Shit, he could feel his eyes stinging up again, being weak! "_Just…don't._"

And suddenly, Harry felt taller than the nervous Neville, despite their obvious height difference. Harry was deadly serious, his face straining for control…his eyes must have glittered fury.

"They _melted_ his face, Neville." He managed to say this without snarling, watching as the hard face appropriately turned into horror. Okay, so it wasn't Neville. "_Skin_ was dripping off. That's not healing. Tell me who it was."

"I can't." Even Neville looked angry now, a bit frustrated. "I didn't see who it was." But then, he had been a student of the Carrows. He knew how to lie.

"…Fine. If that's how you want to play it." Harry shook his head with disbelief, slinging his bag over his shoulder and heading to the door.

"We miss you in the common room, Harry." Neville spoke quietly, "We don't get to see or talk to you anymore."

"That's not my fault." Harry turned around, tired eyes trying and probably failing to glare at Neville. "And I'll be damned if I apologize now."

"Harry…we're your friends." He replied simply, trying to apply caution as if he knew Harry would explode with his next words. "Not…not Malfoy."

"Bravery? Chivalry? Heroics?" Harry shook his head tiredly, finally showing his exhaustion to his once friend. "Gryffindor sickens me."

Harry left the room without looking back.


	7. It's all in the Wrist

I do not own anything here, nor am I making a profit from this. It is purely to pass my time, and hopefully, interest other people. J.K. Rowling owns Harry Potter, not me.

A massive thankyou to SevLoverKat, Astrido, amdlara, Angel-Miyu, MaiKanon, ALPHAQ69, MirrorFlower and DarkWind, doyou000me, taramegareader, demonicfate616, Queenmarie124, xSaffire55x, Ritsuki Yonsago, a kitsune's light, and guest! Thanks for reviewing and for your support! :D

Just a little info out there for my readers :) Don't worry all you Neville Lovers, because I love him too, and I'm not planning on bashing him either. And "the list" was really hard to create, given Harry's circumstances, but I hope everyone likes it when it's revealed :)

Oh, I'm not sure if it should be slash or not, it's up to the general concensus on all my readers :) The way the story plays out it could be either haha

Thanks for all your support, I now have internet and a laptop again, so be prepared for updates!

**Chapter Seven - It's all in the Wrist**

Harry stared at _The List_ in his hands, a frown crossing his face as he regarded it. It was good in theory, but would it actually work? If he had some sort of goal to aim towards, then his body wouldn't fall into ruin, right? However, some of these were impossible. Not just difficult, but would require a miracle to complete. And then there was the choice of what to do first. One he couldn't complete until the holidays, and even then it would be a fiasco; _anything_ linking with the Dursley's would be.

Number eight was physically impossible. Would apparation count? But then, something so simple wasn't even worth being on this list, now was it? If he only had to apparate it would be a complete let down, nothing at all to celebrate with.

No one would notice if he did number twenty four; they didn't care enough to.

Number Thirty One…who would be willing to play with him?

That was how Harry found himself by the lake during his study Thursday afternoon, with a pile of rocks in his pocket, flinging them at the water with frustration. He had been at this for about an hour, and no matter how he tried, not a single one of them would skim. He had tried trying to throw them over arm, underarm, at different angles; all to watch with irritation as they sunk into the lake. _How _did people do it? He had thought this would be a relatively easy one to complete, after all, how hard could throwing a rock at some water be? Oh, only one of the most challenging exercises Harry had ever known.

He had even tried different sized rocks, pebbles, bits of gravel he had found at the edge of the lake…but none of them seemed to work! It was _infuriating_; one of the only things he could do at the moment, and it was hopeless. The closest Harry got to a skim was when the splash made multiple ripples glide across the water.

Gritting his teeth together angrily, Harry picked up the rocks and tossed them all into the lake, grabbing his cloak and making his way up to dinner. _That, _at least, he could do. Number Seven. Try everything, no matter how nauseated and simply _not hungry _he was nowadays. Be subjected to countless glares and remarks, all while he tried to stomach food that didn't want to stay in his gut. Very attractive list, this one was turning out to be.

Harry hesitated in his storming up to the castle, the uncomfortable feeling of being watching prickling at the hairs of his neck. There was no one here, though, which only irritated him further.

He glanced at the Womping Willow, swallowing as he took in its threatening branches. It seemed to know what he was contemplating, so he shrugged it off, making his way quickly to the doors…Bloody tree, he would tackle that one another day. Number Seventeen.

Great idea, Harry. Make a list to keep yourself occupied, then ignore the list. Bound to work.

Harry ignored the voice in his head, and the gaze from someone that followed his pace to the castle. He _would_ complete the list.

He was betting his life on it.

.

.

.

Harry was pouring over books in the library, feeling a bit better after his skimming a stone failure earlier that day. If he couldn't do that one, he might as well do another. Keep himself busy. Said other was number ten, learn how to say hello in fifty languages. And yes, English counted.

It was more difficult then it looked, and he for once admired the effort Hermione went into for studying. He not only had to try to find fifty different languages, but he had to find that particular word, and how to pronounce it, and then remember _fifty _of them. And that being said, some of the languages he hadn't even heard of before. He didn't really know if Hmong, or Navaho were real languages, pure ignorance on his part, but he had found language books on each, and so was busy trying to scribble down the word and the pronunciation.

It was a gruelling process. Thank Merlin he already knew one. It wasn't cheating. It was his list.

He was so engrossed by it that he didn't even hear someone approaching, nor did he notice the subtle cough until a book dropped onto his table. He jumped slightly, blinking up to meet eyes with Hermione and Ron. Harry was immediately wary, his quill hesitating in its scratching.

"…Do you mind if we sit here, Harry?" Hermione was the negotiator, taking everything in control and acting diplomat. She wasn't glaring at him though, and looked almost pleading. Before he knew what he was doing, Harry was nodding consent, moving a stack of books to the other side of the table.

"We've missed you, Harry." It was similar to what Neville had said, too much of a coincidence that Harry paused again, reaching over to fold his list in half and hide it in his pocket. He didn't want them knowing…this was just for him. And if they had consorted with Neville, and were trying some sort of war tactic, they weren't to be trusted. No matter how much his gut wanted to heave up his dinner at the thought.

"…yeah, me too." He managed to get out, swallowing as Hermione slowly opened her books, nudging Ron to do the same.

He didn't look good, Ron; he was pale, his own eyes a little bloodshot...but it was the constant frown that had taken control of his face that made him appear completely different. He wouldn't forgive yet, he was still too angry. Too much hurt had hit him at once. Harry's stomach squirmed again, thinking of how he would take it when Harry finally told them that he was slightly ill.

He wasn't going to fade, not while he completed his list. He wasn't allowing himself.

"What are you doing, Harry?" Hermione glanced at the books, her curiosity controlling her better than her subdued friendliness; it was so Hermione that Harry almost smiled. "Indonesian, Italian, Hebrew, Polish…what on earth are you doing?"

"Just a little side project." Harry evaded her eyes, flipping through the book to see if it had any pronunciations in it. The library was very lacking in different languages. As it was, he was going to have to order in a few books, maybe thirty, just to get the single 'Hello' out of them. He didn't mind, it wasn't as if he had to be frugal anymore.

"Keeping myself entertained." He didn't mean the remark to be cutting, but suddenly her level gaze was directed at him, cautious. She seemed to be trying to read him; is that what Neville had asked her to do? Told her he was unstable?

"Don't…you think you have a bit too much of school work, to be taking on a side project?" That was like Hermione, as if they hadn't been fighting on and off for the past few weeks. "We're getting tons of homework."

The homework didn't really bother Harry anymore; he completed the essays, but that was it. He had about half as much as everyone else had, because he didn't have to do the practical work. Anyway, as it was he finished most of it in studies, and then in any practical class they had anyway. It was almost as if he didn't have homework anymore. "I'm keeping up." He replied eventually, smiling softly at his bushy haired friend. "I'm ahead for the first time in my life; I need a project. Might get some credit points." If only to please her.

"…what class will languages help?" She really was too bright for her age. Harry avoided her eyes and kept searching, trying to seem blasé and knowing he was failing exceptionally well.

"It's sort of an individual assignment." He changed the topic, it working so much better than with Malfoy. "What about you? Falling behind?"

"No, I'm trying to finish the research for potions…" The calm table suddenly got uncomfortable, stiff. Hermione suddenly found her hands quite interesting, and didn't even finish her sentence. So, Neville had spoken to them. It seemed they _were_ loyal still, just not to him.

"…It wasn't you, was it?" Harry spoke quietly, watching his friends exchange a glance before answering. Ron hadn't spoken yet.

"Of course not, Harry." She whispered back to him, tears in her eyes as she regarded him. "We're your friends." She repeated it fervently, in case he didn't believe her. "_We're your friends_. It might have hit you. Anyway, I don't think whoever did it understood what would happen; it was a horrible accident, Harry." Well, that left Parvati, Dean and Seamus. But, he had thought them to be his friends too.

He wasn't likely to find this out, not from them. Hermione had taken on Bellatrix, it was unlikely she would yield to Harry. Accident indeed.

Harry nodded, glancing at Ron again. He glanced back at Harry, smiling softly and pulling out his books. It seemed they were getting better, the three of them. Or, was it a part of their plan. Plan? What plan? Why would they plan _anything_?

Harry shook his head, paranoia getting to him. Back to researching how to say hello in Japanese, and the pronunciation. What? There were five different ways of saying it? Harry frowned, trying to make sense of it. Languages were difficult; thank Merlin you didn't need to learn them here. Well, spells sort of counted, but that was all Latin; easy to say, easy to remember. Languages…why had Harry done this to himself?

He started tapping as he read, to calm his frustration, and partly, to frustrate Hermione. She was pouring through books, searching left right and centre for the potions answer and getting more and more irritable when she didn't find it. She had started muttering to herself.

"_Mundane…_I'll show them mundane!" She had murmured a few minutes ago, but now her glare was trained on Harry's fingers, tapping to a beat in his head. He had to hide a smirk as he paused his fingers…he waited a moment…then went right back on tapping again.

"Stop distracting us and do your work." Hermione was obviously straining not to snap at him, her eyes hardening as he shrugged, smirking slightly. This was just as it had been, two years ago.

"What work?"

"Potions! We've only got tonight to find the answer, and I _can't _find it! _How _can all the Slytherins have it immediately and yet _none_ of the Gryffindors? I thought it was a pureblood thing," She sniffed, grabbing another book, "but Ron has no idea either." He had missed this.

Until Ron finally spoke. "What're you smirking at?" He asked darkly, eyes cold. "It's creepy; you look like _Malfoy._"

Harry blinked at him, smile disappearing. The first smile they had noticed, and they demanded he stop. It was as if he stabbed Harry in the chest, the way it was sinking. "_So?" _

_"So_, it's disturbing."

"Don't fight, you two! Help me with the homework." Hermione diverted both their attention with her desperate tone. She looked as if she were about to pull her hair out. "What do you think, Harry? I've tried almost all combinations to find the answer, and I cannot find it anywhere! I've tried children's potions, dark potions, _useless_ potions! You would be surprised how many there actually are." She added darkly, almost shivering at the memory. "I think Slughorn gave us a trick question, actually. To test how far we would go to find the answer. He _is_ the Slytherin Head, after all; supposed to be sly and deceiving. He had to be Slytherin _somehow_."

Harry smirked again, this one sharper and without the amusement, if just to piss Ron off. He would never tell him how much that comment had hurt, but it had, and now he didn't care if Ron apologized and joked around with him; all he wanted to do was leave the library. Toss the bucket list aside and use magic so much his chest would stop hurting and his gut would stop trying to heave. He was only doing the best he bloody well could. "Actually, if you want the answer, it's not in a potions book."

"What? What do you mean?" Hermione was staring as if captivated by his face, not even blinking as she waited for an answer. She _loathed_ being outdone, even now.

"I mean I found it ages ago; first night it was given to us, actually. Well, no, Draco found it-"

"_Ooh, Draco_, is it?" Ron spat, confusing Harry slightly before he realised he had use his given name. Shit! Why did he do that? He even tried to _think_ of him as Malfoy, for Merlin's sake! _This _is what happened when you got too talkative to someone supposed to be a rival. "What the _fuck_, Harry!? You have little study sessions with the Death-Eater now too?"

It unnerved Harry how quickly the anger filled him. "Shut up, Ron!"

"Merlin, I _knew_ those rumours were true!"

Raw indignation coursed through Harry, radiating until it became rage. How _dare_ Ron? Even if those rumours were true, a friend would stick by him and not give a bloody toss whether or not it was! And Ron just kept bringing it up; as if the subjectivity of the rumour was worse than Harry befriending Malfoy…not that he had.

Harry didn't expect the anger, but it came in a torrent. Hermione looked as if she were about to take for cover as he glared back at Ron, a snarl across his face. The memory of his first session in the hospital wing with someone present flicked through his mind, joining to his lips before he had a chance to stop it.

"Oh, yeah, I forgot to tell you, Draco and I are fucking behind your backs too." He felt a strange amount of pleasure in watching Ron turn bright red, his eyes bulging with either rage or shock. Hermione simply rolled her eyes, shaking her head in disbelief.

Harry raised his eyebrows, turning back to Ron to tell him to shut his mouth or get out, when lithe arms curled around his shoulders, pulling him close against someone's chest. His mouth snapped shut, swallowing perplexedly as vanilla filled the air, and someone rested their head on his shoulder, a smooth cheek brushing against his.

Harry didn't think he could have spoken even if he had wanted to as Malfoy's voice vibrated across his neck, soft and yet stilling the entire table. "I thought we weren't telling anyone?" He asked, amusement ringing in his voice.

Harry was about to brush him off; he was clinging far too tightly, his chest brushed up tightly against his back when Malfoy leaned forwards again, soft lips brushing against Harry's throat, leaving an innocent little peck. Well, it would have been innocent, and Harry was certain he would have been able to brush it away as a joke, if the blonde git had not kissed it a second time, this one not so subtle.

He sucked gently on Harry's throat, nipping down slightly as if to mark him. Harry wasn't ready for the jolt of nerves that trickled across his neck, or the sudden fact that it was oh so very hot in the library. He stiffened, swallowing tightly as Malfoy slowly released his lips from Harry's petrified neck, a hand coming up to ruffle in his hair softly.

Harry just stared across the table, not sure his eyes could go any wider. He…_what? _

Completely disregarding his friends, Harry spun around to catch Malfoy's insufferable blonde head leave the library with his Slytherin cronies. His initial shock gone, Harry bolted to the door to chase the evil boy, either to kill him or slog him one.

_Why _had he done that? And why had it felt…_no! Just fucking no!_

Harry spun around a corner to almost collide with the blonde. He had to skid to a stop, getting three very curious pairs of eyes flicker to him. Before anything could be said, however, somehow Malfoy's robes were in Harry's hands, and he was pressed up against a wall, not at all like Malfoy was envisioning it, Harry was sure.

"What the hell was that!?" Harry yelled, his voice cracking in the middle of the sentence uneasily. Confusion and anger traded places across his face, making him more nervous than he had been in a while. Was all the joking around with Malfoy before still a gag? Or was he serious? Were the rumours true? Had _he_ started them? _Why had his neck felt like it was on fucking fire? _

But Malfoy only smirked at him, raising his eyebrows in that arrogant manner he had. His friends, Pansy and Blaise just stood amused to one side, not even attempting to help him. They were snickering to one another, but didn't so much as point a wand. "I was simply validating your story."

Harry growled at the sardonic answer, the anger winning this round. "It. Was. Said. With. Sarcasm."

"I'm not too good with sarcasm." Malfoy drawled, smirking as amusement flickered in Harry's eyes. Harry wanted to hit himself; he was supposed to be angry, not trying to keep a grin off of his stupid face.

"You've just ruined my life." He refused to let him go, despite how the grin was winning.

"You did that yourself."

"I hate you."

"I don't; I'm witty, handsome…" Malfoy grinned with Harry now, both boys rolling their eyes. Malfoy was one of the most immature people he knew, most of the time.

"Selfish."

"As are all good men in history." The blonde git had the audacity to look proud at the insult.

"Vain." Harry bit back, just wanting that bloody grin to go. It made it oh so hard to actually hate him, when he smiled like that.

"It's called looking after myself, grooming, sometimes using a brush…it's a fairly new invention, I'm not sure if you've heard of it. In fact, you should probably invest in-"

"Short."

"I'm taller than you." Harry was scraping at the bottom of the barrel here, not sure why he let Malfoy go at all; didn't he want to punch him a moment ago?

"…_Blonde_."

"That's actually a compliment."

Harry sighed, throwing up his arms dramatically, very much like the prat would, he was sure. "You're impossible!" He declared, still grinning and not know why exactly. But the blonde only winked at him, still very much amused.

"That's what you love about me." A growl from behind them had them both spinning around, watching a very livid pair of Gryffindors storming through the corridor. Ron looked ready to burst a pipe, and even Hermione looked a sickly pale. Surely it wasn't _that_ bad of a thing…wait, what _had_ he done this time?

Harry turned back to Malfoy, meeting his bewildered gaze before he had time to hide it. It was enough.

Harry burst into laughter. It was so ridiculous! They were angry at him, for what? For thinking he was gay? For trying to beat up Malfoy? Or for the Slytherin Twat trying to rape his throat with his mouth? He didn't know, didn't care…and for some unknown reason, mirth was giggling up inside him.

He leant his head against Malfoy's shoulder, simply to remain standing. It was just so _stupid! _The entire situation, and the bad timing of his friends; you could be sure that the rumours would be back in full spirit tomorrow. Hey, the prophet might even get involved…_now that_, for some unknown reason, would be funny.

Eventually Harry stopped his uncontrolled bout of mad laughter, pushing himself away from the smirking Malfoy. He nodded, shaking his head in disbelief and retreated back into the library without a word.

Malfoy always made him…_content_, lately.

What had he chased after him for again?

.

.

.

Draco smirked at Potter's back, feeling smug in every possible way. _He_ had made Potter laugh like that; not the Mud-blood, not the Weasel…_him_.

Basking in his own superiority long enough, he directed his gaze to his two astounded friends. They both looked as if they had been confounded, with their mouths to the floor and eyes wide. Well, Blaise just cocked an eyebrow; Pansy, on the other hand, looked as if Christmas had been cancelled. They exchanged a glance, quickly communicating to one another. It didn't matter if they said it silently or not, Draco could read every word immediately.

He counted to three in his head, waiting for the command.

"…Explain. Now." They both demanded, tones clearly indicating that they wouldn't take no for an answer.

Draco, still smirking, kept walking.

.

.

.

Harry couldn't help but sigh at the lake, throwing more rocks into the water. Today had been just as good as the others usually were lately; beginning off with heated glares and whispers behind his back. Well, not too subtle whispers, as it were. More like shouts and constant berates as he passed through the hallways, no discrimination between any of the houses or the years; they were all coming together, demonstrating a fine display of inter-house unity against Harry.

Someone had restarted the rumours, and apparently no one blessed his fake choice of partner. They acted as if he was practising dark magic on his breaks, or claiming that he was going to be the next Voldemort after raising a copious amount of inferi.

That wasn't what annoyed Harry, not in the slightest. He was infuriated by the fact they thought it was, by some miraculous chance, _their business! _Harry had done his part for the wizarding world! He had given them the chance of freedom and peace and more. So why couldn't they just shut up and leave him to his own devices?

_They didn't own him! _

If Harry wanted to go out with Malfoy, he would, and they could all go and shove their disgusting opinions up their own arses! Not that, of course, Harry was considering this at all. It was simply hypothetical, relating to the rumours. And anyway, he couldn't very well date anyone, could he, if he was going to…if he was sick like this? It just wasn't fair on anyone if he did.

…

And the fact Harry didn't even like boys! And even if he did, which he _didn't_, it was _still _no one's business but Harry's!

He flung another rock into the water, gritting his teeth as it sunk immediately, hardly even making a ripple. Why was skimming a fucking rock so bloody hard? It only added to the irritation rising through his thoughts. Anyone, apparently, could do it! He had even seen Ron do it last year…

That thought didn't help his frustration. It had had to have been Ron or Hermione to start this rumour. They were the only ones that had read the note the other day, and to overhear Malfoy's _joking_ exclamation. Well, them and Zabini and Parkinson. But Zabini hardly looked the type to revolve around idle gossip, and Parkinson would hardly do a thing if it could potentially ruin the reputation of Malfoy. So Ron or Hermione it was; they didn't care who got hurt, as long as their anger could be played out.

_It was just so infuriating! _

By tomorrow, he was sure the prophet would know, and then he would have _everyone _breathing down his neck. He could practically see the headlines now, and even his _imagination _made him cringe. They would be brutal.

Harry flung another pebble out to the water, growling as it sunk immediately. Not even a ripple. Damn it!

"You're abysmal at this as well."

Harry spun around as Malfoy strode over, eyebrows raised at the anger covering his face. What was he even thinking? If anyone saw them, the rumours wouldn't die down.

"Fuck off." Harry snarled, turning back to the water and pegging a rock at it none too gently. None of this would have started if he hadn't been friendly, lately.

"Wow, someone's got PMS this morning; you're obviously the bottom in our relationship."

"Is this funny to you?" Harry snapped, rounding back on the unperturbed blonde. "Because I'm not laughing! You've completely fucked up my life!"

"Me?" Malfoy just looked bored, completely at ease as if he didn't have someone bellowing at him from a few meters away. "You're blaming me?"

"This entire mess if your fault!" _Why _was he standing there with a single fucking eyebrow raised? Harry wanted to grab that thin line of blonde hair and pull it off! See if he would be indifferent then! "If you hadn't sent those notes then they wouldn't get the idea! You bloody hell raped my throat yesterday!"

Amusement flickered into Malfoy's eyes, a smirk beginning to spread across his face. "You're clearly in need of some educating on 'throat raping'. A peck doesn't qualify."

"Stop laughing! Comments like that is what got us into this mess!" Harry pulled at his hair, swallowing tightly. "You do know the prophet is going to get involved, don't you? You do know that your oh-so-valuable reputation is in jeopardy?" Malfoy just blinked at that, the smirk fading a little. Finally, something that Harry could use to force him to understand that it wasn't amusing. "If you didn't think everything was a joke all the time, your reputation would be okay!" Harry curled his hands into fists, "I would still be friends with Ron and Hermione, Gryffindor wouldn't hate me...and…and I would be able to spend the next few months relatively happy." He finished quietly, turning back around and tossing another stone at the lake, to watch it sink yet again. "So, really Malfoy, just fuck off."

Harry knew that it wasn't really fair, to blame Malfoy for everything that was wrong at the moment; most of it was _his fault_, after all. He was just so angry today, and tired, and bloody well irritated beyond belief that he didn't care.

"Actually, Potter," It would be too much, of course, to hope that Malfoy had a conscious and would actually leave Harry alone. "My standing in Slytherin has nothing to do with rumours, and they couldn't care less if I was in a relationship with you or with Longbottom; they would draw the line at Weasel, however. Bestiality and all… Anyway, quite frankly, it's none of their business."

Harry refused to look up at him, instead continued staring out at the lake, pleading with any god that was listening that he would just _leave_. "Secondly, you most defiantly _wouldn't_ still be friends with Weasel and the Mudblood, because you weren't talking even before you began speaking to me civilly. And Gryffindor is about as loyal as a pack of Death-Eaters. Neither of these would have changed even slightly just because of a note I sent you."

Harry clenched his teeth irritably. Yes, they would have. They were already becoming friendly again, joking and chatting normally. It would have been fine.

"And finally," Harry almost jumped as Malfoy spoke; he hadn't realised he had edged closer at all. "I didn't hear you complaining."

"Was the shove against the wall too subtle?" Harry scoffed, falling silence as Malfoy took one of the pebbles in his hand, turning to fling it at the water.

It leapt across the stilled surface, ripples cascading as it edged further and further away. A perfect skim.

The bastard.

A disgruntled Harry watched as Malfoy started picking up various stones. He was amazed that Malfoy would want to get his hands dirty at all, actually.

"They have to be flat." Malfoy stated, placing a rather large stone in Harry's hand. "You hold it like this." He positioned the rock between his thumb and his finger, his hands remarkably soft. It was a struggle to pay attention to where the rock was supposed to go, and not stare at those long fingers. His hands didn't have any scars on them, not the tiniest blemish. _How_?

"And you flick your wrist. It's all in the wrist movement." Malfoy grabbed his own stone, quickly tossing it towards the water. He didn't watch the skim, though; his grey orbs were focussed on Harry's hand, not yet moving.

Harry sighed inwardly, knowing it was hopeless. He had been trying for hours, he wasn't likely to get it now. He swung his arm out, trying to copy the wrist movement that Malfoy had made, knowing it would be a mimic of a copy but attempting it nevertheless.

His stone hurtled towards the water. Harry crossed his arms, waiting for it to sink as they always did…and blinked in surprise. His stone jumped along the water three times before falling through the surface. The perfect skim.

He glanced at Malfoy grinning, utterly in shock. He had skimmed a rock…he had completed the first thing on his list! His rubbish mood vanished in a second, the unfamiliar mirth flooding into him, like it had a few times this past week. He had skimmed the rock!

Malfoy was smirking, though his eyes remained soft and not cruel; he wasn't sneering this time, he was amused too.

Harry grabbed another rock, flinging it towards the water again. He laughed as it rebounded, this time leaping four times before sinking. He didn't even think to wonder why Malfoy had ventured down to the lake in the first place.

_29. Learn to skim a stone_


	8. Any Other Way

I do not own anything here, nor am I making a profit from this. It is purely to pass my time, and hopefully, interest other people. J. owns Harry Potter, not me.

A big thank you to DrarrySmurf, yuediangelo, TheShadowsNeverLied, Astrido, demonicfate616, TaitZu-chan, SevLoverKat, MirrorFlower and Darkwind, SignatureSinful, DinaTheCat, bluetoads, ParanormalMoonlight, a kitsune's light, xSaffire55x, Allyieh, doyou000me, Guest x 4, history, Atta, and MaiKanon! Thanks for your reviews, they made my day :D

Okay, I made a funny little joke in the beginning of this chapter - you guys probably won't think it's funny, but I found it halarious, so it made it to the published version lol Hope you like this chapter, I agonised for days.

**Chapter Nine – Any Other Way**

**Harry Potter Engaged to Death-Eater Draco Malfoy! **

Well, it was slightly worse than Harry predicted.

Harry gaped at the heading, now understanding why the entire hall had been shouting and glaring at him as he entered this morning. He had been resigned when the glares turned on him, expecting it. He really hadn't known that anything had occurred until he caught sight of Neville's post, quickly snatching it off of him at the sight of his name on heading. Nothing could have prepared him for that.

Sure, he had been a bit curious about the remarks that had been directed. The fact most people told him to "break it off" had been a bit odd, and in hindsight, a bit of a clue in. But Harry had remained carelessly oblivious, and was now unfortunately sitting in the centre of the hall with every furious eye trained on him.

Where was the bloody prophet getting their facts from?

Harry glared at the large picture of Harry and Malfoy by the lake, taken just yesterday at sunset. Yes, there was glinting on Malfoy's left hand, but it wasn't a fucking ring! Harry had, excited and naive, bet Malfoy to see who could skim their stone father. In the excitement of crossing off twenty nine, he wanted to try for another. He had lost dramatically, and Malfoy was mocking him, trailing the gallon along his fingers like the show-off that he was!

Merlin! Who the hell would even take a picture like that? And why, _fucking why_, would you send it to the prophet?

Surely his roommates didn't believe this shit? He and Malfoy had only been talking for the past week or so, they didn't even consider one another friends! The Gryffindors couldn't believe this pack of lies?

Oh, yes, yes they could.

An absolutely _furious _Ginny was throwing down the newspaper, her livid gaze flying around the hall to spot the mortified brunette. She was practically flying over before he could blink, she-bat in action. Dean and Seamus were muttering to themselves, shaking their heads in disgust before throwing heated glares to the table bathed in green. Even Neville was oddly quiet, staring at his half eaten breakfast with a puzzled frown plastered on his face. Every single one of them accepted it as true.

_Un-fucking-believable!_

"_Harry Potter!" _Ginny shrieked, grabbing a disregarded paper and flinging it at him. "Is this true? Huh? _Explain yourself!" _She seemed near tears, very much as if she were nearing hysterics.

It infuriated Harry; that she dared to be _hurt_, as if more so than he. The prophet wasn't sprouting lies about her. They hadn't made her life miserable more times than she could count. And she wasn't the one about to be ostracised, yet again. What did she have to be _hurt _about?

"It's not true." He said quietly, standing from the table quickly. She had been towering over him, and even if he couldn't use magic, the slight height difference made him feel a bit more confident.

"They have a picture!" She shouted, "They have a fucking picture!"

"_It's. Not. True!" _Why wouldn't she believe him? You couldn't even see the ring, and the article was filled with speculation. All they had to go on was a shoddy photo and some imbecile's imagination.

Apparently _this _imbecile's imagination. "Were you just experimenting with me, is that it?" She demanded, a bit too loud for a hall filled with eavesdropping students. "I was _waiting_ for _nothing?" _

"It's not true, for fucks sake!" The temptation to grab his wand and do pointless magic for the sake of just _ending this insistent torture_ was becoming too much. Hell, Harry's fingers were even twitching towards his sleeve.

Why did _no one _here believe him? Honestly, they were acting as if he had committed some devious sin, and was saving gods known and unknown from judging him by doing it themselves, and trying to utterly destroy his good sense of lack of self harm. Did they _want _him to snap?

And, anyway, it was as if it was any of their fucking business! There could be no way he could even hope to tell them about the illness, if they were going to blow up about a _photograph_.

The thought hit Harry like a ton of bricks, crushing his chest into a dull, numb stinging. He couldn't tell anyone. He was going to have to face it all alone, even if taking it alone became too much to bare.

The hall grew louder as the doors opened, Harry swinging his eyes over to groan inwardly. Malfoy had just entered the room, seeming oblivious to the tension as he made his way over to his own table. Fucking prat, this was his entire fault…_again!_

"Miss Weasley, I think it would be good if you could take your seat." Harry actually groaned aloud before turning to McGonagall, wanting nothing more than to approach the nearest wall and bang his head against it until it turned to mush. That, or knocked himself unconscious. Either or, at this point. Preferably mush, though.

The headmistress did not look pleased.

"And Mister Potter, I think you and I need to have a long conversation." Even she was butting in where she didn't belong.

Laughter from across the hall caught Harry's eye, turning slightly to watch as the Slytherins around Malfoy all burst into laughter. Even the blonde git was smirking, shaking his head in disbelief. He was talking to those around him, quite animatedly…and they were all laughing. Sneering at the other tables, but laughing.

No one accosted Malfoy for apparently being engaged. No one even looked remotely angry. They all thought it was a great joke, and wore their trademark smirks proudly. Fantastic.

"Mr Potter, please follow me." The appearance of the please made no difference to the fact it was an order. Harry would follow, or, he was sure, the conversation would be held where he stood, regardless of the students that were trying in vain to eavesdrop.

So, Harry left his untouched breakfast, and followed the silent headmistress from the hall. Every eye followed him, not one comforting.

The walk through the corridors was numb. McGonagall refused to speak. If the silence wasn't indicator enough to know she wasn't that pleased, the infamous crossed arms were a giveaway. If not for the paper clenched in one hand, Harry could have been any other student simply going to detention.

Harry was stuck thinking about the prophet, and how it seemed to want to destroy his entire life before the illness got a chance to. Wasn't he ever going to get a break?

So caught up in loathing his very existence, Harry didn't realise they weren't alone until a not so subtle cough echoed from right next to him.

If McGonagall seemed angry before, now she was livid. Her eyes were so narrowed they hardly looked open, and her voice trembled as she spoke. "Leave us, Mr Malfoy. I don't recall asking you from the hall."

"True, true," Harry cringed at the tone alone, not even having to glance at Malfoy to know he was wearing that condescending sneer he seemed to cherish. "However, you _did_ drag out my fiancé. Shouldn't that be included in my business?"

"No one here is laughing, Mr Malfoy, at your sordid humour. This does not concern-"

"On the contrary," Harry would never have dared interrupt the headmistress, not like that. "It's my name one the headline, too. That, I believe, makes it very much my concern."

Please say no, just please, give me a fucking break! "Fine. You will answer my questions, too." Harry sighed as they continued walking, utterly exhausted. He couldn't keep up with this, the constant anger being directed at him. And now, he was about to get snapped at for an article that he was the subject of, not the creator. To make it worse he had hardly slept last night, the reoccurring nightmares refusing to let him rest more than a few hours each night. Could this day get any better?

Harry glanced at Malfoy was he tapped his arm. "How bad was the hall before I got there?" He asked quietly, raising his eyebrows as McGonagall spun around to glare at them.

"No speaking until we get to the office. I will not have you validating stories, is that clear?" She was off again before they replied.

Harry glanced at Malfoy curiously, watching as he rolled his eyes like the overdramatic twit he was. He caught Harry's gaze, inching over until he was right near his ear. "On a scale? One to ten, how bad?"

"I. Said. No. Speaking." They blinked understanding as their headmistress turned to glare at them, a warning if Harry ever saw one. He didn't know what the consequence would be, but it couldn't be that bad, now could it? What could be worse than the illness?

Harry counted to five before turning back to Malfoy, considering the question. On word shouldn't hurt, should it? "…'bout fifty."

"Fine. Get in there."A frustrated McGonagall flung open a random classroom, eyes glinting dangerously as she ushered them in. They hadn't even sat at their respective desks before she flung the paper at the both of them, eyebrows raised. "What is this rubbish?" She demanded, raising her chin to effectively look down at them. "Explain yourselves."

Harry just blinked, tired eyes willing to close and allow him a few minutes of sleep. This was completely unfair, that they would get ambushed this way. They hadn't even done anything, for Christ's sake.

"It seems," Malfoy drawled, ignoring the groan from Harry, "To be some sort of newspaper article. Correct me if I'm wrong, of course."

"You're pushing a perilous line, Mr Malfoy." The cold reply made Harry sit up, a hand pinching his nose tiredly. He couldn't trust Malfoy to make this any better. Hell, he didn't even know why he had followed them in here. He was going to make this as painful as possible.

"Has the prophet ever written a true word about me?" Harry asked quietly, unable to meet the Gryffindor Head's eyes. "It's not true."

No one, it seemed, was inclined to believe Harry. "You must be aware of the rumours that have been circulating the school, Harry. And then, faced with _this_-"

"Tell me," Malfoy bit in again, completely unperturbed about the nostril flaring that increased in McGonagall's face, nor the icy glare. "Is it the fact Harry is engaged to a boy that has you so incredibly infuriated, or is it his choice in partner?"

"The rumours were only rumours." Harry tried to cut across Malfoy, but knew he cut in a second too late. Shit, the blonde was playing a dangerous game. Either answer could have her fired, and she knew it. On the other hand, it was an interesting question to pose, at least for Harry. Why _was _she so furious? For that matter, why were they even obligated to answer her?

A stifled silence echoed throughout the classroom. McGonagall stood to her full height, icy glare drifting from both boys. "This is not to be considered funny, boys. I will only ask once. Is the article true?"

"…No." Harry mumbled when it became clear that Malfoy was opting for a brooding silence instead. If she had listened thirty seconds ago, she wouldn't have had to ask again.

She sighed relief, turning instead to the cooperative Harry. "And are you two dating?"

"I don't see how that in any of your concern." Broody silence was too difficult for Malfoy to uphold, apparently. "You don't ask every other student with whom they are or are not dating, and nor are they obligated to tell you. It is no one's business but our own."

"Harry."

Harry sighed inwardly, swallowing as her demanding gaze drilled holes into his head.

"Potter." Fuck, if McGonagall's glares were holes, Harry was lucky he didn't disintegrate under Malfoy's cold stare. Fuck it all. He was doomed if he did, doomed if he didn't. It all counted on what he had most to lose.

"I'm sorry, Professor, but I fail to see if that is anyone's business." Merlin, he couldn't practically _feel_ Malfoy gloating next to him. Insufferable twat, if he wasn't here it would be over with already! "I should be able to date without being judged, by a teacher no less."

"…Do you think this is wise, Harry? Given your current…_activities?_" Was there a spell for disintegration? Harry would gladly pay every knut in his vault than have to sit here and take the pity directed towards him. "It wouldn't be fair on yourself, nor your partner, Harry. It's actually quite selfish of you. You know the…the risks, yes?"

They weren't talking about the issue with the prophet anymore.

Harry sighed, this conversation doing nothing to ebb the oncoming headache. It was Sunday for Merlin's sake…he should have listened to his tired body and spent the day sleeping. "…yes." He mumbled, staring at her shoulder quite firmly. He wasn't even dating Malfoy, yet he was feeling guilty.

"And do you think, knowing this, that this course of action is fair?"

"…I'm sick…not dying." Harry sank lower in his chair, swallowing tightly as both eyes became quite attentive in studying his face. They knew his lie. "…Malfoy knows." He added to a silent McGonagall, swallowing before continuing. "And it's my choice to make."

"Be that as it may," If her tone was more judgemental, she would be considered his aunt. "The school will talk. The wizarding community will talk. I hope you boys understand that-"

"The school will know it to be a hoax by lunchtime." Malfoy dismissed with a wave of his hand, lounging back on the chair as if remotely comfortable. Harry didn't know how he did that, acting as if he was here not to be berated. "The Slytherins never believed it. And I think you need to instigate some sort of mail filtration, for the next few days least. I understand I don't have the best reputation, and I can assure howlers have already been sent."

"That is already being sorted, Mr Malfoy." Harry sincerely doubted that. "I know how to run my school." Again, Harry had doubts. They were both scrutinized for the next few moments, the silence soon becoming overbearing. She didn't believe a bloody word they had said, and they all knew it.

When it became clear that nothing else was going to be said, not even a dismissal, Malfoy stretched lazily, getting to his feet. He gestured for Harry to follow, and waited until he did. The door hadn't even clicked shut before he was speaking.

"Not too subtle, that one." He remarked, glancing at the quiet Harry before continuing. "You don't have to look as if it was the end of the world; it's just a rumour."

"Yeah, another rumour to make my wonderful life just _that _much easier." Harry sighed, running a hand through his hair nervously. He felt, and he didn't know why, like he was about to burst. Wasn't it supposed to get easier? Instead he just felt numb, and when he wasn't numb, he felt this livid, uncontrolled anger. Why couldn't it just be uncomplicated for once? "Why did you even follow us? She thinks we're lying through our teeth, now."

"I was giving you the moral support shit." Malfoy replied easily, his trademark smirk back in place. "You know us Slytherins; we're always there to lend a hand."

Harry could only stare at him blankly. He didn't know if he was trying to be serious, or if he was making a joke. You could never tell with the blonde prat, and it did nothing to make him less uneasy. It could just be a joke…but then _why_ _did_ he follow?

Harry couldn't deal with the fifty shades of Malfoy at the moment. He turned the opposite direction at the first chance he had, trying to ignore the stare that followed him to the entrance hall.

.

.

.

Harry sat near the edge of the lake, in his usual spot by now. The weather was getting colder, each miniscule breeze able to send him into a fit of shivers. It was as if the wind was transporting small particles of ice, which had an affinity towards Harry and only Harry.

Harry didn't appreciate this attraction, but like all things Harry didn't like at the moment; it ignored his wishes and continued to draw towards him. Similarly to the blonde git from hell, who was pointedly watching him from a window in the castle.

Harry had spotted him half an hour ago, and the unabashed boy refused to move. Of course, there was no way to tell that it was Malfoy from this distance. It was just a blur anyway, maybe a blemish on the window. But Harry knew. No one was as ostentatious as the git, and no one would want to mimic that blonde head. So the blonde watched, completely unabashed, as Harry tried to freeze himself by the lake.

The git. Didn't he have his own NEWTs to study for, or was he getting his cronies to do the work for him?

Harry tossed a stone towards the lake, a soft smiling making its way onto his face as it leapt across five times before sinking under the cool water. It was stupid how something as insignificant as making a rock bounce could cheer him up, even make him smile. It was stupid, immature, completely idiotic…

Harry threw another rock as the lake, just to smile.

.

.

.

Harry glanced around, shifting uncomfortably as he wandered through the Gryffindor common room. Where was everyone? Were they actively avoiding him? Did they have a charm that rang when he was approaching the portrait hole?

He needed to talk to them, to explain that the paper was a lie. He _needed_ to salvage his friendships. He couldn't do this alone, the prospect terrified him. He needed _someone_.

Harry glanced around again, taking in the dying embers of the fireplace and the empty room. The clock…oh. That was why. It was only three in the morning. They weren't avoiding him, they were asleep. He had spent more time at the lake than he had thought.

Sure, he had stayed a few minutes after watching the sunset, but he hadn't thought it had been for _hours_.

Feeling like a bit of a tosspot, Harry ran a hand through his hair, climbing the steps to his dormitory. He pushed it open, taking a step into the darkened room-

Ron was spread across the floor, something dark covering his too small pyjamas and slowly trickling into a sickly dark puddle around him. His eyes were opened, gazing at nothing. The ever-present frown covered his face, something akin to shock. He…no, this couldn't be happening. Ron couldn't be…

Harry stumbled across the room, barley breathing. Not Ron. Please, anyone but Ron! He tripped and skidding to a halt, cringing as he landed in the sticky liquid, rust invading his nose. He needed to save him. Anything, just to make those eyes see again.

Harry yelped as something yanked him away from his bloodied friend, tossing him aside like the garbage he was. The force was strong enough to weaken his knees, jolting them so he crumpled to the floor.

The _thing_ edged closer to Ron, a scaly hand appearing beneath a dulled cloak, reaching, reaching…it was going for his soul.

Harry was stuck on the floor, watching with paralysed fear as Ron's soul was taken from his chest, a squelching sound echoing cruelly in the room as it was pulled from his very flesh. Shit, he was defenceless; he couldn't even help his friend…

The thing turned to him, blood dribbling off of the grotesque hand, flexing towards Harry-

Harry jerked to the side, falling and yelping loudly. Icy knives stabbed at him from all sides, water filling his mouth. After a few hazardous moments of thrashing, he managed to grip a root and haul himself back to the surface, gasping in gulps of much needed air.

Harry shook in the freezing water of the lake, coughing and spluttering as he inched to the bank. He managed to pull himself up with shaking hands before he collapsed in the mud, chest shuddering fretfully. It was a combination of the extreme fear he had felt in his nightmare, and the freezing water of the lake. Either way, he just wanted to lay there for a few more hours, until he could breathe without gasping.

Harry shivered, a hand inching up to cling at his hair. That nightmare had seemed so real, so detailed. The thing, dementor he realised now, was horrible, gruesome…his stomach heaved at the thought of it. He would never get a good night's sleep.

Harry slowly clambered back to his feet, inching along to the castle. He had fallen asleep by the lake, just like in the dream. It was a coincidence that he didn't want to consider.

He breathed a shaky sigh of relief upon entering his dormitory, but didn't sink into his very tempting bed. He needed to go and take his potions for the night, deal with the furious Pomfrey and try to explain why he was three hours late to the hospital wing. He could nap in three hours, but then had to go to class. Double Potions. Great.

.

.

.

Harry stared at the cube without enthusiasm, trying in vain to ignore all the heated glares thrown his way. It had arrived this morning, and had taken up his time in breakfast instead of trying to communicate with his friends. To be entirely honest, the sigh of Ron made Harry want to throw up everything he had eaten in the past week, which admittedly, wasn't much. He couldn't deal with the frown on Ron's face, not after seeing it permanently stuck there in the nightmare. So he avoided the redhead, not too much difficulty there, and instead played with his new game.

That was how he had spent the last few minutes in defence, and that was how he was going to spend the rest of it. The teacher could hardly complain, now could she? Harry was _ahead_ in defence notes, already completed the homework that was designed for next week. He didn't practise the magic, but then he had been able to cast a shield charm years ago. So instead of paying attention, Harry was lounged back in his chair, trying to figure out a rubik's cube. It was much more difficult than he had imagined. He couldn't even peel the stickers off, like he had seen Dudley do years ago, because these cubs were painted on.

Harry had resolved to taking the cube with him to the hospital tonight, pleading with Pomfrey to let his hands loose. The restraints were not the best company, not on a night like tonight. His nerves were already frazzled; he hadn't had much sleep, yet again, hadn't eaten, yet again, and was being utterly ignored, yet again. He didn't entirely want to be strapped down and left like a mental patient, not when he was so close to snapping. He might just magic his way out of the mess.

What would happen, if he did that? If he used magic during the diagnosis? He was curious enough to try.

Harry rotated another section of the cube, blinking in surprise as the entire side was green, with a vivid orange cube directly in the centre. How the hell had he done that? Was it even possible? Sighing, he cracked his sore knuckles and resumed the slow procession of ruining the cube; this was going to be unattainable.

And to make matters worse, Harry could practically _feel_ Malfoy's distaste from across the classroom, his disgust rolling off in waves. His loathing gaze had never left Harry's back all day, digging into his shoulders uncomfortably. Harry had ignored him, but it never seemed to work lately. If the blonde wanted your attention, he would slide his way in right where he wanted it, like the snake he was. And the insistent staring was doing nothing to calm Harry's weary nerves.

That's all anyone did lately. Stared. They didn't try to hold a conversation, never asked his opinion…just stared. There were different types, of course; furious being the predominant, judgmental the favoured. Pity, it seemed, as a classic with the professors. But never once did anyone ask about Harry's wellbeing. Never once did they inquire if any of the rumours were true, the exception being McGonagall, and she didn't count very much anyway.

No, they just stared. And being on constant surveillance was _really_ starting to annoy Harry. He had lived his _life_ being scrutinized. Did he really need it during the last…during these few months?

So there Malfoy was. Staring.

And, now, waiting to get his arse kicked as soon as their pathetic excuse of a trainee teacher excused the class.

Another glare was thrown his way; ignored. A scowl was hissed at him; not even seen.

Harry was out of his seat and down the hall before the class had even realised class was over. Malfoy had caught up before the bell had even finished.

"What the hell is that?" He demanded immediately, as if it wasn't odd in the slightest that they were walking together from class. After the rumours and the paper, Harry thought he would have wanted to keep his head down. Hell, _Harry _had _hoped_ Malfoy would keep his head down. "It looks…muggle."

Even after all this time, it stung that Malfoy considered anything beyond his norms as inacceptable. He had spat out 'muggle' as if it were a curse, as if Harry _wasn't _a half-blood or raised by muggles or spent the last year trying to defend them from a fucking lunatic with no nose!

"Careful, _Malfoy, muggle_ is contagious." Harry spat back, trying to make 'Malfoy' sound as the blonde did 'muggle', and knowing he had failed miserably at it. He focused on the cube, trying not to let his temper edge into his voice. Usually, it might have worked. Today, after irritated over the improbability of completing the cube, the frustration over the rumours, the bloody unrelenting stares, and Malfoy's continued prejudice being thrust in his face…Harry knew he was kidding himself.

How _dare_ he just stalk in and belittle something on the list? That was _Harry's list_, damn it, and he would be fucking damned if he let _anyone_ judge _it_!

"Aren't you acting like a little bitch today?" Harry spun around furiously, eyes narrowing at the fucking _audacity _of the blonde prat. "Is it that time of the month?"

"Fuck off, Malfoy; I've heard it all by now." And he had. It was incredible the amount of names you could be called that all imply the same thing. It was also incredible that so many of the student population could be that prejudiced. "And you know what? It still isn't slightly funny. So why don't you stop playing Death-Eater, because you sure as hell failed at that as well, and _grow up!" _

Harry regretted it as soon as it left his lips.

Malfoy's face contorted immediately, hiding back behind that insufferable mask. Cool eyes blinked back at him, expression stoic and indifferent. However, if he hadn't been hurt, there would be no need for the mask, now would there?

"Fuck you." Shit, he didn't even yell. Instead he spoke so quietly that Harry wasn't sure if he had heard it or not. Why had he even _thought_ that? It was a touchy subject, even for those in Slytherin that _weren't _Death-Eaters.

Malfoy barged past him, fleeing to a different hallway. Harry couldn't help the lump that had formed in his throat. An odd feeling had constricted against his chest. For a moment he panicked, thinking it could be his magic having another fit…then he realised.

He wouldn't be seeing the grinning, joking Malfoy again. He had effectively crushed that bridge, in one fell swoop. At least now, in a few months time, no one would be hurt in the slightest. Hell, even Malfoy would smirk when he heard the news. He would be prepared, of course, but protected. No one would be hurt, not by Harry's hand. Well, no one would be hurt excessively.

Now, Harry truly was alone.

He should have been feeling relief…and yet, the lump refused to move.

.

.

.

Harry crossed the floor unhurriedly, his feet getting heavier by the step. Here he was, again. It was the fifth time he had to put up with this hell, and it wasn't getting any easier. His feet were trying to turn and sprint, not going to rest until he was safely past Hogsmead; it was pure will that kept him shuffling towards the bed. That, and the fact Pomfrey was following a step behind, as if she could read fragments of his screaming mind.

"No company tonight?" She queried quietly, seeming remarkably relieved despite her apparent unbiased nature as a professor.

"No." The word was hollow, empty. Was his brain trying to make him numb already? Take some of the pain away? He had read, once before, that the body was able to do that sometimes, to try to preserve the owner stress. Did this count as stress enough?

"…I believe it's for the best."

Because Harry always did what was for the best. Becoming a murderer, isolating his friends and avoiding all contact. He was Harry Potter! Golden Boy extraordinaire, selfless and heroic! Yes, all for the best.

Tonight, Harry wasn't so sure.

Especially when Pomfrey reached for the restraints.

"Uh, it's alright tonight, I don't need them." Harry shifted his wrist away, pretending to smile at the patron. He held up the cube. "I have this instead, you know, to keep my hands busy."

Pomfrey didn't speak for a moment, but she didn't release her hold on the restrain either. It wasn't the best indication. The sickly feeling that accompanied his gut every time he entered the hospital wing grew stronger, fetid and cruel. It was enjoying this, Harry's discomfort.

"Harry, last time I left your hands free, you clawed at your chest." She spoke to his shoulder, as she always did now. It did nothing to ease his nerves. "I can't allow you to self harm."

"It wasn't on purpose." The smile was getting harder to hold. "This way I can concentrate on something else. I won't hurt myself."

"You can't ensure that."

"_You_ could, if you didn't leave."

It was the wrong thing to say.

Pomfrey stiffened visibly, her eyes narrowing. She took on the pose that had disobedient students sprinting to the door, lest she force them to clean bedpans or the like. She wasn't usually purposefully cruel, but then she wasn't usually disrespected by students. She jabbed her wand at him, refusing to look at his face as the restrains curled around his wrists, locking into place. The cub remained in Harry's hand, utterly useless.

"…I don't _want_ the restraints." Harry said louder, trying to jerk his hand and almost whimpering when it didn't budge. "Apparently subtle doesn't work with you."

"While you are my patient, Mr Potter," Suddenly he was only known by surname basis. "You will do as I command. I cannot allow you to hurt yourself. The restraints will stay on tonight, and every Tuesday, for the next few months. Understand?" She started attaching the needles to his arms, still resolute in avoiding his gaze. "And as my patient, I will be treated with respect. I am an incredibly busy woman, and I have other patients and other work to attend to other than you. You need to respect that. I cannot coddle you throughout your treatment." Bloody hell, Harry wasn't asking to be coddled! He was pleading not to be chained up like a mental patient!

"…Please, just don't-!"

He cringed as she flicked on the machine, hardly waiting for it to hum before spinning around and hurrying back to her office. Other patients and work his arse! She was either running off to sleep, obliverate herself, or take comfort in a large bourbon.

_It_ slid into his arm, humming happily to itself as it chewed through the muscle in Harry's wrist. His fist tightened on the cube, not as good as a distraction as he assumed it would be, but the action only flared _it_ up. It tightened its hold on his arm, digging through the bone and squeezing until Harry felt his arm was going to snap, like it had the other day.

It stung, that was it. A slight sting. It wasn't hurting, just smarting a bit. Just a little. This was nothing, Harry. You've _died_ once before, haven't you? This little throbbing doesn't compare to-

_Fuck! _Harry yelped as it inched along his arm to his elbow, shifting through the joint as though it was supposed to bend backwards. He needed to do _something_, _fucking anything_, to ignore _the thing_ that was literally invading his body. He even tried twisting his other wrist against the restraint, checking if it would cut or bruise. Of course it would bruise, but he needed _something _to avoid feeling the ache that was overwhelming his arm-

Harry flicked his eyes to the door as it clicked shut, adrenaline coursing through his body. He couldn't be found here, not like this; the fucking rumours would never stop.

The adrenaline wasn't a good thing. When the chemical and _It_ came into contact, it was as if Harry's very arm was on fire. Liquid molten spread through his veins, trying to burn him from the inside. It smouldered, refusing to abscond. His arm squealed with pain, shrieking…no, no that was him.

Harry clamped his teeth onto his lips to cut out that dreadful whine, loathing himself when a whimper still managed to escape his throat. This couldn't get that much worse.

Scraping next to the bed forced him to squeeze his eyes open. He shut them almost immediately. God, _no_! It had to be his vivid fucking imagination; the Universe couldn't be _this_ cruel.

"Just so you know, I'm still extremely pissed off at you." Yes, yes it could, and would, be. "You cannot comprehend just how much I want to break that ugly face of yours, Potty. Cutting out your tongue and smashing your nose wouldn't be enough to satisfy me."

"…get…in line…" Harry managed to mumble, hardly even considered that as he couldn't fully remove his teeth from his bottom lip yet. He didn't want to shriek again, defiantly not in front of Malfoy. Not again.

"Malfoy's don't _queue_." He retorted. Harry could practically see the sneer in place. It was, surprisingly, comforting. Just imagining the brainless git's reaction was considerably better than focusing on _It_, currently tearing along his forearm.

"Why are…you here?"

"I don't speak mumble." Malfoy yawned lazily, two heavy thumps on the bed indicating he had rested his feet over Harry. He was the picture of indifference.

"Why…are you-?"

"Try again."

Harry growled to himself, feeling his temper rise already. Trust a fucking Malfoy to try to take advantage of _this_ situation. He wanted nothing more than to say it clearly, and wipe the imaginary smirk off of his face.

"Why are you here?" It was an effort to not clamp his mouth shut again, especially when _It_ decided that now would be an absolutely perfect time to try to dislocate Harry's shoulder, but he managed it. Albeit slowly, he managed it.

"So you _can _speak cohesively." Harry shouldn't have felt a shimmer of .._pride?..._with those words. "I, however, refuse to communicate with people with poor etiquette. For example, refusing to meet my gaze."

…

He couldn't be serious? However, lo and behold, when Harry remained quiet for a few moments ominous tsking began echoing throughout the hospital wing. What a heartless bastard; Harry couldn't even move here, he could barely speak, and yet Malfoy wanted him to turn and look him in the eye?

Everyone always said that Harry was an open fucking book; if he faced Malfoy right now, he would be present for every emotion that flickered across Harry's mind. That was _not _the most desirable prospect. For Merlin's sake, he wanted more ammunition!

"Potty? You still with us?" Even _now_, he seemed impassive. If Harry wasn't literally tied to the bed, that bloody aristocratic nose would already be broken. But…

It was stillbetter than focusing on the potion.

Loathing himself to the darkest depths of wizarding hell, if he was still able to get in, of course, being counted as a squib, Harry slowly turned to face Malfoy. It was pure torture, and utterly fucking humiliating to face his nemesis like _this_, but he did it. He _had _to. He couldn't focus, not tonight. And even if Malfoy was being nothing more than a merciless prat, at least it was a reliever of a kind. After all, he wasn't allowed numbing potions.

Pain-laced green met with slightly irritated grey.

And _It_ sliced its way through to Harry's chest.

The potion slithered its way into his heart, basking in the source of magic, attempting to taint it with its fetid essence. It clung to every muscle, to every nerve…and _squeezed_.

Harry thrashed on the bed, anything to dislodge it. Move. _Move. MOVE! _He was dimly aware that he was shrieking again, but couldn't summon the effort to care. He _needed_ the _thing_ that was devouring him to stop; he just needed it to stop!

And as if It could taste Harry's desperation, and enjoyed it, It clawed deeper, basking in the pain. It would cease slightly, giving Harry false hope that the torture was almost over, before clinging to his insides again, steadfast and malicious. It was pitiless, giggling as it shredded his tissues and muscles.

Harry's chest was getting tighter and tighter, compressing ruthlessly. Tighter…_tighter…_

The potion slid on, poisoning his stomach instead.

Immediately Harry began guzzling down gulps of air, remembering how to breathe. Too quickly, for he began spluttering uselessly for a good few minutes; an odd mixture of panting and coughing simultaneously. Fuck, it had _never_ been that intense before. It felt…alive.

The violent urge to suddenly throw up everything he had eaten in that week returned. Harry had to make do with clamping his mouth shut, his hands disengaged.

His throat was throbbing. His eyes were watery and stinging. And cold sweat was clinging to his back. Great. Fantastic. He had screamed and cried in front of Malfoy, again. _Fucking brilliant! _

Well, there was no bloody way he was meeting his eyes now. The blonde prat could complain and bitch about all he wanted, it was _mortifying_. If only the potion had managed killed him.

Harry flinched as hands suddenly snatched the rubiks cube from his numbing hand, tossing it aside. It clattered against the tiles, in all probability shattering. It made him wonder why the bastard of a Slytherin held such loathing for the toy; it was a _toy, _for Merlin's sake!

Malfoy quietly reached over and replaced the cube with a soft, incredibly warm hand.

Harry blinked in surprise at the willing contact between them. Malfoy wouldn't want to be caught doing something like this, would he? He was holding Harry's hand. What type of crazed Slytherin…?

The hand squeezed gently, able to communicate oh-so-many words without a single syllable. It counted any pain instantaneously; all the brunette could feel was the heat radiating from his palm, the slight pressure to reassure that he _wasn't _alone, not anymore. The tightness in his throat returned, nothing at all related to the pain from shrieking.

"I still hate you." Malfoy whispered softly, his voice almost nonexistent. And despite the negativity in the message, Harry found himself smiling.

"I wouldn't have it…any other way…"

A warmness Harry had forgotten began creeping its way back into his life.


	9. A Mere Physical Infatuation

I do not own anything here, nor am I making a profit from this. It is purely to pass my time, and hopefully, interest other people. J.K. Rowling owns Harry Potter, not me.

A big big thankyou for all my reviewers! I've tried to write this chapter several times, I had such writers block - no matter how many times I re-write it, I'm not happy with it lol. I've wasted enough time trying to get it right though, so here it is. I hope it's okay, sorry that it's late. :)

To answer some questions, "is Harry getting treatment?" - yes and no. He takes "the potion" (as he has dubbed it) every Tuesday, but it's kind of like a magical scan over his body. It examines every miniture cell to find any impurities or oddities that may be because of the disease. It worsens as it progresses, so this is going to be important that they get the information this invasive potion gets. He takes magical stabilizers through the day, to try to retain his magic, and he takes an internal healer in case the disease has damaged him at all throughout the week, and he takes a pain reliever sometimes. There is no actual treatment of this disease, only measures to try to stabilize or prevent or deal with it. Hope this explaines it :)

Chapter Nine - A Mere a Physical infatuation

Hermione frowned to herself as Malfoy entered the great hall. Usually the one for dramatics, even when, or should she say _especially _when, the rest of Slytherin house was trying to keep a low profile, today he sat without a word to his housemates. He didn't even pick up a fork. The pureblood prince remained silent, and unmoving at the table. And whilst she generally would have pointed out his discontent to the rest of her friends, maybe even join in on some gossip, today it just felt…cruel.

Cruel is exactly what he deserved, the heartless Slytherin. After years of ridicule and torment and just pure prejudice, it was nice to know he was receiving a taste of his own medicine. After all, it was _his_ fault that Harry barely gave them a glance anymore, much less an actual conversation. He was a horrible influence on Harry; her friend had started swearing left, right, and centre, he barely paid attention in class and was up only God knows where, trailing around the school every night. Her friend was changing, and she didn't like it one bit. The only new factor was the blonde Slytherin, as surprising as that was, and that _needed_ to change.

Malfoy destroyed everything he laid his hands on, and he was destroying Harry. And furthermore, he had effectively destroyed their friendship.

And yet, despite being_ Malfoy_, Hermione felt sorry for him.

He had large purple rings under his eyes, a clear sign of lack of sleep. He just stared at his plate, making no move to touch any of the food; stress, maybe? And furthermore his hair, always immaculate, was in a state of disarray; if Malfoy was functioning normally he would never let _that_ happen.

He barely noticed when the post arrived, and seemed oblivious to his fellow house in green attempting to speak with him. He didn't see any of their blank, worried faces, just continued staring with a slight frown at his uneaten meal.

Hermione made her decision. Despite being a complete brat that deserved no more of her sympathy than Voldemort would have received, he needed a break. He looked as if he was on his last legs, about to collapse via exhaustion. No one deserved to be hounded when they were that emotionally exhausted.

Hermione was going to tell the Gryffindors to lay off Malfoy for a few days, that enough was enough with the ridicule or jinxes. Malfoy would see that Gryffindor was capable of compassion.

Nodding to herself, the brightest witch of her grade gathered her books and headed to her study period.

She didn't notice Malfoy's small glances to the boy two seats down from her. She didn't see the Slytherin frowning as he took in the brunette's shaking hands or pale face. She didn't see Harry, his bloodshot eyes squeezed shut as a hand clutched at his stomach desperately. She didn't see the tear escape to dribble down his face.

.

.

.

Harry glanced up at the shadow of his niche, a barely controlled sigh escaping his parched lips. One day without his stalker was all he wanted. One. Fucking. Day.

"What do you want?" Harry groaned against his knees, not even attempting at keeping his annoyance from his voice. He had effectively avoided Malfoy for an entire six hours. Six hours and his new hiding spot had already been discovered; and the clincher! It wasn't even first period yet. "Go away."

"Ask nicely."

"Fuck off."

"Plebeian."

Harry sighed again, raising his head enough to glare over his knees at the aristocratic git. He didn't mind being plebeian, if it meant he wasn't even _considered _in the same genre as Malfoy.

"Alright. Bon jou, monsieur Malfoy."

"Vous avez ruiné la langue française pour moi."

Of coursehe spoke French. Naturally.

Harry pretended not to see the smug little smirk Malfoy gave him; instead he lowered his head back to hide behind his knees. He didn't want Malfoy to see how red his eyes were, not if he had some eye-exploding disease that only the blonde twat could somehow miraculously heal; Harry would rather his eyes burst than submit himself to more humiliation in front of Malfoy. He already had too much ammo. True, he hadn't used any of it yet, but he held the full deck all the same.

He tightened his hand on his waist, willing it to stop. His stomach hadn't stopped churning and twisting since last night. He felt as if every movement was going to make him throw up, and yet sitting still made him feel so sick that he felt as if he _had_ to move. To the nearest bathroom, at least. Harry had opportunistically headed down to breakfast, to gag at the sight of his bacon. He couldn't even sip on some water without feeling as though he was going to heave up what little he had eaten in the past few weeks. It was a horrible feeling.

And Malfoy _couldn't_ know. Lest Harry redecorate his lovely uniform.

"So why are you cowering in a shadowy corner of the castle?" He seemed as interested as he did last night…oh fuck. Harry had blissfully forgotten about _that_ particular humiliation. "Breakfast not to your liking, my little peasant?"

Harry jerked his head up, wincing as he twisted his neck. Wait a bloody moment! _One, _"I'm_ not_ a peasant," and _two_, "I'm not 'yours'! There is no 'my' in relation to us _ever_, Malfoy!"

"Tell that to the prophet, dear." Malfoy's smirk didn't waver at the filthy glare Harry threw him. No, the drama queen bloody flourished under the attention. "No 'my's' anymore? So I can't speak about _my _relationship with Potter? _My _history with him? Not romantically, before your filthy mind leaps ahead, but _my_-"

"Shove off _Malfoy_! I'm not bloody joking here!"

"Fine." It couldn't be that easy. _Nothing_ concerning the blonde git was _ever _this-

"I'll have to refer to it as _our_ relationship. More intimate. Much better, don't you agree? Our. _Our._" Did he _have_ to repeat it like that? It wasn't as if he was contemplating it in seriousness.

"Malfoy, you can't be-"

"Too late," And there was that bloody impeccable grin again. Slytherin Prince? Not likely, smiling like that. "We're committed."

No wonder half the school and most of the wizarding world thought they were dating; Malfoy wasn't exactly trying to rectify the rumours, was he? It really should have bothered Harry more than it was.

"Now, _my_ little Scar-head, care to explain why you're cowering in a shadowy corner of the castle?" Damn. "You don't need to look so shocked that I have a memory span of over thirty seconds; it's called _multitasking_, Potty."

Right. That's it. If Malfoy was going to be twat of the year, Harry could be runner-up.

Harry reached for his bag, grimacing as his stomach lurched again. Hopefully Malfoy would take it for Harry's unease at being watched, not the fact that something was wrong…_again_.

"Don't you have class to get to?" Harry didn't even try to hide the annoyance in his tone. Why bother? When one had to take on a Malfoy, they had to give it their all and have fifty plan "b's" before even _contemplating _a confrontation. Sitting on the floor in an abandoned corridor whilst trying not to be sick wasn't a desirable launch of a plan.

"Stop failing at avoiding the question." Malfoy smirked as Harry's eyebrow twitched. "_We_ have study. Now, the answer?"

Harry didn't reply. He didn't have to. He just had to sit and collect his runner-up trophy.

The effect was instantaneous.

The blonde replaced his grin with a sneer, his eyes dropping dangerously to slits as he glared daggers at the little cube in Harry's hands. He looked coiled like a snake, about to lunge at Harry's throat. Harry didn't doubt the thought was streaking repeatedly across his mind.

"What are you doing?"

"I'm trying to succeed in avoiding the question."

Harry allowed himself a grin. He turned the rubik's cube in his hands, deciding whoever the maker was, was a genius, and about to get a hefty anonymous donation. Effective Malfoy repellent was difficult to come by these-

The cube was flung from his hands savagely, Malfoy's foot replacing the small toy. Yes, he _kicked_ it across the room. Along with at least three of Harry's fingers, but, hey, who was counting?

"That better not be broken, Malfoy."

"Or what? You'll hex me?" Harry swallowed tightly as the snakey _bastard_ disregarded him, hand clenching on his gut. Maybe he _didn't _mind being sick all over Malfoy's robes after all? "Just answer the question."

"Just bugger off?" Harry suggested instead, focusing on those grey daggers instead of the rolling in his stomach. Why was it heaving _now_? Emotion didn't have a thing to do with stomach bugs, did it? "I fail to see why you care."

"What kind of boyfriend would I be if I didn't care about your wellbeing?"

"Malfoy, I would rather shave my entire head, eyebrows and all, and walk into _potions_ with my head held high than want you to care about my wellbeing."

"Doubtful, Potter." Oh, shit…why did the gleam return to his eyes? The gleam was _never _good. "Very doubtful."

Harry groaned again, resting his head back on his knees. His stomach was still twisting, getting to the point of being painful. It felt as if it was burning, and not about to discontinue anytime soon. "I'm not moving, so you might as well leave. Gryffindor stubbornness and all that jazz..."

Harry didn't understand his newfound stalker tendencies. He had made it quite clear that he didn't want the attention, despite the fact it was nice sometimes to have _someone _there other than the professors. Well, to be completely honest, more so than the professors. Malfoy was the closest thing to a friend at the moment, as utterly crazy as that sounded, and it was confusing the hell out of Harry that he didn't mind. But then again, it wasn't as if their 'friendship' could flourish into some incredible partnership.

Harry was sick.

Malfoy was wasting his time.

Shuffling made Harry open his eyes again, blinking in surprise. Malfoy had joined him in the alcove. Sitting on the floor. With a sneer and a look of utter disgust at being on the _floor_, of course, but sitting nevertheless. And Harry had thought him vain.

"What are you doing?"

"It would appear I'm sitting. Correct me if I'm wrong, of course, I have a tendency to not comprehend simple actions. I could be running for all I know-"

"Just shut up." And he had the nerve to look affronted. "I meant _why _are you sitting there?"

"Interesting, that," Malfoy cocked his head to the side, regarding Harry seriously. That bloody mask was impenetrable. "You ask _what_ I am doing but instead meant _why_; _did_ that scar ruin your capability in thinking? Obviously the lucidity is lost in transition through thought to mouth-"

"Stop it-"

"Stop _what_ exactly?"

"_This!" _Harry gestured between them savagely, regretting the action as soon as his gut cramped up savagely. He continued in a slightly milder tone. "The sitting and the chatting and the stalking…I can't be your friend, Malfoy."

The scoff wasn't entirely anticipated. "_Friend?" Why_ was he chuckling? There was nothing funny about this! "Whoever said anything about friendship? Did I _ask_ to be your friend, my deluded little Potty? Did I ever imply it?"

Harry swallowed tightly, ignoring the sinking in his chest. And there went the only person left.

"Whatwould you call it, then?"

"_Pity?" _

"And I told you that if it was pity you should go fuck off!" Harry snarled at him furiously; his emotions were on a bloody rollercoaster today. He hadn't slept well all week, hadn't eaten anything in days, and it was taxing. And, just to make it worse, Malfoy's confusing plethora of masks was just another issue that Harry didn't need to puzzle out right now. "I would rather be alone!"

"If that was true, you would have left Hogwarts already." He didn't even look perturbed. The utter bastard.

"Same for you." Harry shot back at him, frowning as he considered the blonde. "Why _are_ you still here? It's not pity; you're too fucking above pity. So, what is it?"

"I don't have to explain myself to _you_-"

"Yes, actually, you do. I was here first." Harry tried to ignore the smirk at that, no matter how he could feel himself turning red at the childishness of it all. "This is my alcove. I can't – _won't_ move." Grey eyes narrowed a bit at that; of _course _he heard the slip. "It's not pity, it's not loneliness; you still have all your cronies in Slytherin sprinting at your every whim." Malfoy actually looked smug. "If it's not friendship, why would you care-?"

"Don't misinterpret my company for _caring_."

Harry blinked at the sudden venom in his tone, frowning at _what _had been so insulting. He had only implied that Malfoy was concerned about…no. It couldn't be.

Harry glanced at the usually impassible blonde, incredibility overcoming the pain in his stomach. Malfoy was _blushing. _There was a definite pink hue on his cheeks, as he steadily glared at Harry. If only looks could kill. Torture, humiliate and kill excruciatingly slowly.

Holy shit; Draco Malfoy, Slytherin Ice Prince and Royal Heartless Prat, instigator of _every _fight or insult within Hogwarts…_cared_ about Harry? Obviously not romantically, but even for a friendship that was completely…strange. Malfoy cared about Malfoy, and that was it. But nevertheless, here he was, blushing softly, about to murder Harry if he did anything to embarrass him further.

Harry couldn't help it.

He laughed.

"Shut up!" The blonde was immediately on the defensive, hand twitching for his wand. He looked a second away from using it. Harry ignored this fact.

"You're _blushing _Malfoy!" Harry laughed, both arms clutching at his stomach now. "_Blushing!" _This, of course, only made him flush a deeper pink, and caused Harry to laugh louder.

"_Shut the fuck up, Potter!" _

"Afraid someone will hear us?" Harry chortled, grinning at the fact Malfoy's eyes were growing steadily darker. He didn't doubt that the blonde would be more than willing to curse Harry just to shut him up. Hell, he would probably find humor in that instead! "Afraid someone will find out the big bad Slytherin has a heart?"

"Tch, who implied I had a heart?" Harry was still chuckling as Malfoy tried to compose himself, rolling his eyes as if this entire conversation _didn't_ have him utterly mortified. "You're over exaggerating, Potty."

"You'd be one to know."

"_If_, and I mean in every single hypothetical way you're limited brain can conjure, _if_ I had a slightestinkling, _a fucking speck_ of…restricted concern in relation to _you_, be rest assured, it's nothing to do will your emotional wellbeing _in the least_."

Harry just nodded, holding back the mirth in his chest. His stomach was on fire, but his chest was running on fucking clouds. "Okay." He responded quite minimally, only irritating Malfoy further. Harry had never seen him struggling to find the right words before; it was almost as amusing as seeing him flush pink. "What _does _it have to do with, then?"

Malfoy looked pissed, underneath that mask of his. Eyes glinting dangerously, he could have been contemplating Harry's murder without blinking. That being said, Harry didn't expect him to sigh dramatically and roll his eyes again. He definitely didn't expect Malfoy to grin at him, the much softer version of himself finally coming through. A stab in the neck with his wand was more likely than _this. _

"It's a mere physical infatuation, Potty." Malfoy grinned, running a hand through his perfect hair. He looked almost…normal. "How are we supposed to consummate our marriage with such…limitations on your side?"

Harry just laughed again, shaking his head in disbelief. Trust the blonde git to turn this around again. "Whatever, you still care about me."

"Fuck off, my little scarhead."

"Doesn't that make your point rather futile, _Draco?"_

Harry was busy marveling at the fact he had made Malfoy laugh, _laugh, for Christ's sake!, _when a squeak of surprise made them both spin their heads around.

Neville was standing a few meters away, mouth gaping and eyes wide as he stared at the two of them. He seemed to hesitate for a moment, confusion practically oozing from him before he spun around and sprinted off, tripping on his trousers once as he did. He looked so much more like the bumbling, quiet student from first year, and not the Gryffindor leader of present, that had Harry stare blankly for a few moments.

From the look of his face, he had heard _everything_. Great.

Harry jerked as Malfoy leapt to his feet, eyes promising murder. Harry had thought he was embarrassed when he was flushing pink…now, his face was vivid red. Hands clenched, he started off after Neville, muttering potential curses under his breath as he went. He looked as if he was about to pop a bloody vein.

"Thanks, Neville."Harry said quietly, wondering how Malfoy was going to mutilate him. Threatening was out of the question, of course; Nev had seen the blonde _smile_, for fucks sake. He was going to be lucky if Draco let him get to class this week. "I owe you one."

Harry sat quietly in his alcove, wondering if it had always been so uncomfortable.

.

.

.

Well, Harry had made it successfully through a second day without as much as a glare thrown his way. No exploding inkwells. No mysteriously missing homework. The week was looking up, as if he could finally relax without the insistent anxiousness that had forced its way into his life. Harry was finally content.

…

With the small exception being his stomach was resisting any solid effort to retain normalcy. _Two fucking days_, and it was still squirming and twisting uncomfortably. Any attempt to even glance at food had him feeling as though he was about to throw up, and god forbid if he tried to eat. Maybe that was why his schoolmates had given him a break with the taunting and jinxing. They were still irritated about his newfound friendship with Malfoy, despite the fact they hadn't spoken since that odd occurrence yesterday morning, _and _the fact Malfoy had quite clearly stated that they were _not_ friends, but maybe they thought that his stomach problems were a fine punishment for the time being.

The bastards.

Harry shuffled through the library doors, eyes searching for an abandoned table. If he was given a break, despite the reasons why, he was going to utilize it to the best of his ability; he was going to learn some more languages today. He had already scribbled a few down, but it was hell to despite the fact it was almost as difficult as staying awake in Professor Bin's classes was, he had decided to struggle through anyway. He needed a distraction, and this was a welcomed one. Unlike his stalker Slytherin. Who was sitting at a table all to himself, a frown marring his face as he glared at a particularly thick book before him. He must have felt Harry's stare, for he shifted in his seat, but steadily refused to look up. He did, however, flip Harry off.

Harry smirked to himself, wondering why such as blatantly rude action had just made his entire day all that much better.

The entire library was full.

Tables of eighth years filled the large space, each one searching through books almost frantically, passing notes or pulling their hair out. Madam Pince was standing over them all moodily, pointing to the door as soon as someone opened their mouths to speak. Well, it was what they deserved.

Harry smirked to himself, his smug smile sliding off his face immediately. What had _he_ done to deserve Neville practically sprinting towards him? A confrontation in the library? _Really? _

"Harry, don't go." Neville spoke as soon as the thought crossed his mind. He hurried the last few steps. "I just want to talk, honestly."

Resigning himself for the jinxes to return by the end of this conversation, Harry sighed and stayed where he was. Bloody hell, the glares were already trained on his back. Why didn't Neville just paint a target on his shoulders?

"It's…uh…I'm sorry for overhearing yesterday…" Neville blurted out, blushing as he studied his shoes. Oh, great. This was going to be hell on earth…well, amplified anyway. "I didn't mean to, it's just I heard shouting, and thought Malfoy was attacking you…"If anything Neville turned bright red at that, both embarrassing himself and utterly mortifying Harry. Shit, he believed the rumors.

"Neville, nothing's going on between-"

"It's alright, Harry, you don't have to pretend. I…get it." Harry watched in a morbid fascination as Neville lifted his head, finally meeting his eyes. Suddenly, the leader of Gyffindor was back, ready to take charge and face a problem head on. "I thought…well, we all thought, that you were just doing it to get back at us. To try to start fights and stuff. And, well, after seeing you two yesterday…I know that's not the case. If he makes you happy-"

"Oh dear god, please stop-"

"_Then that's fine by me. _You have my complete support, Harry." Neville smiled at the end, laughing as he analyzed Harry's completely _horrified_ face. Malfoy lied; the bloody school _still _believed that they were a couple. Harry was going to murder that prick. "I'll even try to make Gryffindor turn around-"

"Please, don't." Harry swallowed tightly, glancing around at the _murder_ being glared his way. There was no fucking way in _hell_ that they were going to see sense. Especially if Neville wasn't in the first place! And he was the fucking most lucid of them all! "Just…its fine if you understand." Harry wanted to shoot himself. "They'll…come around…" Doubtful. Very, very doubtful.

They both stood awkwardly for a few moments, Harry wanting to hide his face and never be seen again, Neville standing in a sort of self satisfied way, believing he had done some good. God, Harry had never been more humiliated than at this moment. They had Neville's _approval? _

"Well…I have to finish my potions homework." Neville said suddenly, laughing at himself as he did. "I can't the answers anywhere."

"Try 'Useless Herbs of the Twelfth Century'…I found it in there." Harry glanced around again, trying to find a table that didn't have someone glaring at him. Great. He could always go sit on the floor behind some shelves.

"Ta, thanks Harry…oh, um…just so you know…the potion mishap with Malfoy…" Harry blinked in shock, turning to frown at Neville. He couldn't be snitching on a fellow Gryffindor…could he? That…it went against every code they lived by in the tower…and he was doing it for _Harry? _"Um…it wasn't any of the girls…and it wasn't Ron or Seamus either." He frowned here, looking almost as embarrassed as Harry did moment ago. "I've had a talk with him, and he didn't know what it would do. He was just chucking random ingredients into cauldrons when he could…and obviously it went very wrong. He won't do it again, I promise…just…tell_ Mal _-uh, Draco, that I've dealt with it."

Holy shit, Neville would be murdered if Malfoy heard him call him by his given name. He would be tortured if he ever found out _Neville_ was trying to help him.

"Yeah…uh, thanks…" Harry nodded clumsily as his friend, _Merlin, he still had a friend!, _went back to his desk to be hounded by Gryffindors. What the hell was that?

Harry stood there blankly for a few moments, not sure what to think. Dean. It was Dean that had tried to melt Malfoy's face. Accidently, of course, but the cruel intent was there nevertheless. Who the hell threw random ingredients into a cauldron, for fucks sake?! Were they still bloody twelve?

…

Should he tell Malfoy?

Harry's feet were moving before his mind had caught up, still steadily ignoring the painful clenching of his stomach. If he ignored it, it wasn't there. The same philosophy for his…illness.

"What did Toad-Wonder want, Potty?"

Harry swallowed as he stared at the blonde head, frowning slightly as he didn't even look up. How the hell had he known it would be Harry that approached? He was getting more stalker-ish by the day.

"He gave our relationship his blessing." Harry said dryly, smirking as Malfoy's hand paused slightly before turning the page. That was his entire indication he had heard, a light hesitation. Did _nothing_ faze him?

"I'll have to break up with you then. Shame." He sounded as if he was speaking about the weather. "I'm assuming that's the reason behind their change of heart?"

"What do you mean?" Change of heart? The Gryffindors hadn't changed an inch; they were still glaring and muttering as they usually did, only without the curses. Malfoy seemed to agree.

"They've stopped jinxing me this week. Probably for the best; they were losing too many members as it was."

Harry frowned. "They were jinxing you?"

"Merlin, Potty, do you live under a rock?" Malfoy finally glanced up, his mask already in place. "The school isn't too happy with Slytherin at the moment, and they've been blatantly obvious in alerting us to this fact. Nothing we can't handle, of course; I don't want to activate that annoying hero complex. Slytherin may not forgive me if I do."

"I don't have a hero complex...what the hell are you reading?" Harry had finally caught a glimpse at the book Malfoy had been studying; one word caught his eye and set off the alarm bells. And Malfoy had the audacity to look innocent.

"Just some light reading. Nothing to do with you."

"Bullshit it doesn't have to do with me!" Harry went to snatch the book away; blinking as one of Malfoy's hands came slamming down to hold it in place. The mask was still firmly in place, but his eyes were glinting. Harry couldn't tell if it was anger or amusement; whichever one it was, it still sent a chill down Harry's spine. "Give me the book, Malfoy."

"Don't think I will, actually." He replied dryly, raising his eyebrows. "I'm just doing some extracurricular study."

"This isn't funny-!"

"I never implied it was."

Harry swallowed tightly, flicking his eyes at the word again before jerking his entire hand away. It felt as if it could burn him. "Put it back. Put it back now!"

"Controlling husband, are you? I didn't bet on that…well, yes, I did actually…"

"_Put it back!" _

"No." Malfoy actually sounded smug. "I can read whatever I wish, _without_ your permission."

"Not when it has to do with me!" Harry cursed as his voice trembled, but resolutely held onto Malfoy's bloody evaluating gaze. He could practically feel the judgement rolling off in waves. "If someone sees you reading this they can guess-!"

"No one is interested in whatever I read, Potty. No one cares."

"You can't be sure about that!"

"Well, no one was interested _before_ you got here. The only one making it suspicious is you."

Harry jerked his head around, almost groaning as he caught most of the students glancing their way. True to Malfoy's word, they all looked _very _interested now. Moments ago it seemed no one even knew Malfoy in the room. Shit.

Harry's stomach twisted roughly with his fear, thriving on the new emotion. He gasped slightly, a hand clenching anxiously at his gut. This stomach bug was the worse; the fear fed its viciousness, and its viciousness made Harry's terror increase tenfold. It was a brutal cycle, one he needed to rectify soon. As soon as he dealt with Malfoy's snooping qualities.

"It's not as if they can hear what we're talking about, anyway. Did you know that three in five people that have been recorded with succ-"

"_Shut up!" _

_"_-have gone insane?"

Harry snarled furiously, snatching his wand from his sleeve. Not his fake wand, his actual wand. Who the hell cared if the illness hurt him now? If it managed to shut the pratty bastard up, Harry didn't give two fucks. In fact, he would welcome it.

How _dare_ he go and read about this? What the fuck was he trying to do? Get more ammunition? Why would _anyone _ want to read about that? It wasn't as if he held the advantage already!

Unadulterated anger coursed through Harry, flooding to the brim. He wanted Malfoy to _hurt_. He wanted him to _back off_ and leave Harry to his own devices; not to try to jam useless information about a useless illness down his fucking throat!

Malfoy was threatening the already unstable platform Harry was waiting on. No, he was fucking obliterating it!

"Give me the book, or I'll curse you. Don't think I won't."

But the twit didn't even look surprised. "Did I cross some imaginary line?" He drawled, completely at ease with Harry's wand jammed against his head. It only made him want to utter the spell. One. Spell.

Harry's stomach grumbled to itself, tensing and squeezing as Harry tried to calm the torrent of anger. He needed to _not_ blast Malfoy's head off…after all, Madam Pince was blatantly edging closer to intervene. He couldn't let decapitation join his record, now could he? His gut wasn't helping…it was twisting and giggling with fucking amusement at the fear and ferocity that was overwhelming Harry's… fuck.

Harry's insides went cold, almost numb. His stomach had been acting up since Tuesday, it was…_It. _It felt like the potion, the fucking _thing_ that was obliterating Harry's life. It was still inside Harry.

Fuck. Fuck! _Fuck! _

Harry's mind began screaming at him, begging him to run to the hospital wing and strap himself into the bed and turn on the bloody _torture _himself…and yet he couldn't so much as move. Harry didn't even know if he could _speak_ at this moment; facing Voldemort had left him with more courage than this moment did. He didn't know if he could do the 'treatment' again so soon…he didn't know if he could handle it.

So Harry stood there, mind screaming at him, face blank, wondering what the hell he was supposed to do. He felt dirty, soiled, having this _thing_ inside him still. What if it couldn't be taken out? What if he was going to be stuck with this fucking parasite for the rest of his-

"_Answer me_."

Oh, double fuck. Harry had forgotten about the blonde prat from Slytherin, who had apparently been speaking this entire time. Great. Fantastic. He was frowning at Harry, irritation fairly visible across his mask now.

Harry's wand was limp in his hand, not even pointing at Malfoy's face anymore. He had been standing there like an imbecile, eyes glazed and in all probability muttering to himself. Nothing like maintaining a good image.

"…I…" Harry cursed himself to the bottoms of wizarding hell as he only managed a small croak of a word. How had he managed to kill a man, but wasn't able to ask for help? How messed up had his mind become? "…I think I need the hospital wing."

Let the apocalypse officially begin; Harry had asked for help from Draco Malfoy.

"Fine. Come on."

There was no hesitation.

.

.

.

Harry cringed on the bed, biting his lip until it bled. He had been right. Pomfrey had paled and immediately strapped him back into the bed, turning on the machines and trying to extract as much of the potion as possible. It had managed to retain in his stomach, possibly due to the amount of fear in the last round of treatments. This time, he was going to be restrained for an extra half an hour, to ensure it was all collected.

If left any longer, it would have become toxic. Harry was lucky, apparently.

Malfoy didn't say a word, but he didn't leave either.

He didn't mention the book again.

However Harry did notice it slip into his bag.

He pretended not to.

Just like his philosophy; if it was ignored, it didn't exist.


	10. Suicdal SelfishLittlePrick of a Mudblood

I do not own anything here, nor am I making a profit from this. It is purely to pass my time, and hopefully, interest other people. J.K. Rowling owns Harry Potter, not me.

A big THANK YOU! To SevLoverKat, yuediangelo, ALPHAQ69, Allyieh, Muggles, ArikaHikari, MirrorFlower and DarkWind, a kitsune's light, Gaomee, doyou000me, Tenshi Yami- Angel of Darkness, Okami-hime-13, Obscene cupcake, gabbygirl89, hotcat, DeanCastielSam, and Guest! Thanks for your reviews, I've tried to update this for you lovely people! :)

Sorry about the long time between updates, My family's very beloved bird died, and then our dog had to go into surgery the next day :( I wasn't really in the mood for writing, so sorry!

And it's worrying me how many of you want Harry to die hahaha, I havent decided yet for sure what I'm going to do, but I have an idea in my head - sorry, no spoilers! Well, this chapter is a bit different, I hope you like it. :) Sorry if I've ruined it for anyone

- S

**Chapter Ten - Suicidal, Selfish Little Prick of a Mudblood!**

Harry stared at his reflection, horror plastered across his face. _How _had he thought this would be a good idea? When had it crossed his mind that this would be okay? Hell, had he even _thought _about it? Apparently not, given the sheer revulsion screaming at him from his reflection. Holy shit…just…_why? _

He had started the day relatively fine. If you counted staring at the weary list in his hand since his retreat from the hospital wing fine. One thing had been crossed off…just one. He had a bloody plethora of things to do, and yet only one was completed. It was pathetic; how was this supposed to help him at all, if he didn't endeavour to actually complete it? Some he couldn't do yet, others he simply didn't want to…but nevertheless, some _had _to get done.

And so, after running through his utterly odd encounters with Malfoy, Harry made up his mind. Determined, before he could rethink, _or actually think, apparently, _he had rushed off to the bathroom to complete number twelve.

And complete it he did, to his utter mortification. Holy shit, he looked like a fucking alien. All he needed now was to paint his body green and streak through the great hall. He could probably do it without anyone recognising him.

Harry blinked at himself, swallowing tightly. He didn't expect the torrent of…_weakness_ to overwhelm him. Was this going to happen to him? Was he going to have to look like this for the rest of his…for the next few months? He only prayed to gods known and unknown and most likely in a state of nonexistence that it would be fine by tomorrow. It had restored itself once before within a day, it could restore itself again. Hopefully. _Desperately _hopefully. Without the use of magic, would it still work? Merlin, it had better. Harry would rather just tell everyone what was wrong than have to put up with _this_ for over twenty four hours. It was…no words could describe the utter _horror_ that wouldn't be repelled from Harry's mind. It was just…_wrong. _

And he was going to be given shit today for it. Guaranteed. The first class was potions. Fan-fucking-tastic!

Well, he had to face up to the music sooner or later. No regrets. Be a true Gryffindor!

Despite how he would rather re-duel Voldemort than face his classmates today.

It was silent trip to the dungeons, most people at breakfast. No one really noticed Harry until they did the blatantly obvious double glance. A first year actually stopped walking and let their jaw drop to the floor. It was nice to know that everyone had a rightful sense of decorum.

His reception in class was to be expected, and not much better. The muttering began immediately, echoes of 'attention seeker' and 'E.T' from the muggle-borns. And whilst the Slytherins didn't understand that particular reference, the scorn behind the phrase was difficult to miss.

Sighing to himself, Harry kept his eyes on his desk as he hurried across the room. He was going to make the potion, ignore _everything_ and get out as quick as possible. Easy. Simple. He didn't factor Malfoy into his calculations.

"_Which one of them did it?" _The venom in his voice was actually quite frightening; when you saw this particular gleam in his eye, it was easy to see why he was allowed to become a Death-Eater at such a young age. Harry glanced at him and did a double take; fucking hell.

He was glaring murder at the other side of the room, his trademark sneer already in place. His wand was out, not even inconspicuous as he pointed it towards the students cloaked in red. What was even more surprising was Zambini and Parkinson had already followed his lead, glancing at each other cautiously before directing their wands at Ron. Only Ron, might Harry add. None of the others.

"_Which one?" _

Well, this was slightly awkward.

Harry swallowed tightly, trying with careful precision to avoid eye contact like the plague. Malfoy was going to shit a brick at this. "Put your bloody wand away; it wasn't them."

"Bullshit."

"_It was me, okay?_ I did it to myself; just put your fucking wand away!"

Slow motion was possible without the use of magic.

Malfoy turned impossibly slowly, his eyebrows rising as he did. If he looked furious before, he looked fucking murderous now. Eyes glinting silver daggers, anger controlled his face before it transformed quite quickly into one of heavy revulsion. Harry felt unclean as Malfoy's eyes trailed up and down his body, jerking away with a sneer. As quickly as he had come to Harry's aid, Malfoy dismissed him altogether.

As one, the Slytherin's spun back around on their chairs, stoically facing the backboard.

Fuck, that hurt more than the jeers of 'phone home' did.

Resisting rising a hand to his mutilated skin, Harry waited in the agonising silence for class to start. Yes, it was unbearable. Yes, he had done it himself. But he would rather do it now than later, when ideas might concoct between the smarter students. It was on the list, it had to get done sometime.

True, he probably should have used something other than the shower razor. And if he had taken the time to think about why there was a razor in the men's shower he wouldn't have touched it, but he didn't on either account. He looked like a hairless, tufty freak…but at least he still had his nose.

Fuck, it had better grow back tomorrow.

_12. Shave all of my hair off_

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.

.

Harry stared at his reflection, running a hand over his coarse, bald head. He better not look like fucking Voldemort, or he would be having some serious conversations with the 'how much can you fuck with me?" department.

Seriously though…he looked like shit. The lack of hair made his skin look stretched and sickly, almost as if he had cancer. The bags under his eyes were more apparent…was _this _what he was going to look like further on in treatment? A Voldemort younger addition?

Harry traced his scalp with a fingertip, nausea clinging to his stomach. This wasn't him. He wasn't going to turn into…this. No, never. Not if he could help it. This was what the list was all about, wasn't it? Stopping him from turning into a hopeless…_this_.

Merlin, he was ugly. And as someone who usually didn't give a flying fuck about how he looked, the thought hurt. He needed his hair back, if just to hide behind. It had better bloody grow back tomorrow, or Harry would hurl himself over the astronomy tower. That, or leave Hogwarts altogether. Either or.

Harry blinked as the tingling feeling of being watched inched along his spine. He was alone in the bathroom; he had triple checked before bolting the door shut…oh.

"How have you been, Myrtle?"

It was silent for a moment longer, both waiting to see what the other would do first. Eventually, as Harry waited quietly, the head of the ghost popped out of a toilet bowl. Blushing white at being caught, she drifted a little higher before speaking.

"Oh, you know how it is, drifting through each toilet cubicle day in and out. Sometimes I sneak up on first years to scare them, but, well, one tires of it each decade, I suppose." She sighed, smiling at Harry again. He had to give her credit; she didn't even glance at his head. "I miss you, Harry; you hardly come and see me anymore. It gets very lonely hanging around the pipes each week. I used to have the blonde Slytherin too, but you took him away from me. Jealous, were you?" She giggled without mirth, for the first time looking decidedly angry before the hurt and sheer loneliness returned to her face. Harry knew that look; he wore it far too often lately.

"...Doesn't…doesn't anyone else say hello? Other students or teachers?"

The ghost wore grim amusement before sighing dramatically, shrugging as she floated towards the window. "Why would they say hello to someone who's only half here?" She replied, blatantly staring at something outside rather than Harry. "The most attention I had in years was when you were breaking all the rules in second grade…"She smiled at that, turning back around. "Then it was Draco…he was always nice…" She sighed dreamily, turning to stare at Harry. "What happened to your head? You look almost as bad as kitty did in second year." She was giggling again. Harry even quirked a small smile; he couldn't help it, even remembering cat-Hermione was funny.

"I decided to go with a new look; like it?"

"I liked your old look better."

"Then I'll change back." Harry promised quietly, turning and planning to get away as quick as possible. Myrtle had always seemed a bit too lonely, and right now it was hitting a bit too close to home. What if he became a ghost, destined to hover a half life alone? How… sad.

Without thinking, a quality he was repeating far too often today, Harry spun back around. "Myrtle… I've come to take you up on an offer."

Harry watched as she blinked, confusion etched across her translucent face. He might as well make her millennia that much less lonely. "You remember, don't you? You asked if I might want to share your u-bend?"

He didn't think a ghost was capable of that amount of happiness; hope shone through her milky globes, her entire posture lifting with desperateness. He couldn't pull out now, not if he wanted to.

"Well…I'm just saying, if I do become a ghost…I don't know if I will or not, I guess it all depends when you're dead or not...is that offer still up for grabs?"

Myrtle burst into laughter, giggling and smiling broadly. She was happier than she had been whilst watching cat-Hermione, happier than Harry had ever _imagined_ her being. Tears shone down her cheeks as she swooped down to hug Harry. The icy coolness of the hug eradicated Harry's mirth, but the ghost's delight remained strong. She was…happy.

"Oh, yes! Yes! Yes! I started to get a little jealous when you stopped visiting me, I thought perhaps you didn't like me anymore…but yes! The offer is opened and accepted and done!" She smiled brightly, staring at Harry as if she had never seen him before. It was quite unnerving, actually. Harry was already starting to regret this. She didn't seem to blink too often; was that a ghost thing, or a Myrtle thing?

"Just think about it Harry! You and me for _century's_…_together_. Year in, year out! Year in, year out!" Fuck.

"…Uh…yeah, about this…you do know this is only _if_ I become a ghost right? I may not…so don't get your hopes too up, yeah?"

She didn't seem perturbed. She actually smiled brighter. "Are you afraid of death, Harry?"

Afraid of death? Harry didn't think anything even intimidated him anymore, on comparison to that. Voldemort looked like a drooling grandfather that had escaped the nursing home in comparison to facing off with Death. Slowly, Harry nodded.

"I'll get the u-bend ready then." Myrtle simpered, winking at Harry before floating through the wall. God, her insanely happy laughter was echoing through the corridors.

Harry sighed, turning back to stare at his deformed head in the mirror. Was he afraid of death?

He was terrified.

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.

.

Harry didn't want to open his eyes. If his hair was still gone, despite the fact he had been assured that it would indeed grow back from several houselves over dinner in the kitchen, he was throwing himself over the tower. Join Myrtle earlier, if just to shut her up.

The bloody ghost didn't understand the need for secrecy, apparently. She had been _singing_ yesterday...fucking _singing! _Melancholy ghost of the year had been floating down the halls, singing at the top of her voice, smiling at students, and avoiding the bathrooms altogether. And if people were too stupid enough to disregard all this as unusual behaviour, the fact that she had been grinning smugly all day and repeating "I have a boy who'll stay with me for millennia…will yours?" to all the female students had everyone whispering.

Unfortunately, especially Peeves. He was playing detective now, trying to solve the identity of the secret admirer of the ghost. The students were guessing. Peeves was guessing. The teachers were trying to find Myrtle to ensure that no student was about to harm themselves. It wasn't fun.

Harry had finally managed to track her down after lunch; it wasn't really that hard. He just followed the music and found her at a brightly lit window, humming to herself happily. And whilst it was a nice feeling to know that he had cheered up an immensely depressed girl, Harry also found himself wishing desperately he hadn't said a thing. A century of this might be a bit…taxing.

She had finally promised not to reveal his identity, because apparently nobody would ask anyway, and floated off again, still singing. Bloody girls…Harry had never understood them; they were all mysteries.

Harry sighed, inching a hand to his head. He hadn't slept at all last night, terrified his head would still be bald. Not because he was being plagued by nightmares…of course not.

It would grow back, wouldn't it? If he wasn't allowed to use magic, would it still regrow? He was pretty sure he had magic-ed it back when he was younger…would it work if his magic was volatile?

Where the hell was his Gryffindor courage when he needed it?

No, no he wasn't doing this now. He was going to go to the bathroom, get ready for the utterly lonely Saturday that this was going to turn into, and accidently glance into the mirror at some point. Yeah, that's what he was going to do. Anyway, he couldn't find the strength to lift his hand to check his hair.

Harry shuffled from his bed, thankful that it was almost eleven and therefore his entire house was already up and doing only god knew what. He was thankful he didn't have to put up with the disappointed stares. It wasn't as if he was doing it for attention; he was completing his list.

It took him an entire five seconds after entering the bathroom to glance desperately at the mirror. Another five to realize what he was seeing, and a final sigh of fan-fucking-tastic relief as he ran a hand through his impossibly messy brown locks. Some of his magic still worked; thank bloody Merlin.

He wouldn't have to join Myrtle as soon as she wished.

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.

It was an utter waste of a day, Draco had decided as he stared at his friend's antics without humour. Honestly, did they think they were being amusing? It was the first day in weeks in which the sun had actually decided to make an appearance, and as such, the grounds were filled with brainless twits from the other houses. They were all acting as if it was a summer's day, the way they were sunbaking and throwing their cloaks off. In actual fact, it was just above eighteen degrees, and looked as if it were about to snow. They all had such admirable intellect, didn't they?

Truth be told, Pansy and Blaise might have had an input on the odd behaviour between students and the weather. They had begun hexing students at least an hour ago, and didn't seem inclined to stop anytime soon. Usually Draco would have joined them, but he wasn't in the mood today. And no, he _wasn't _sulking; Malfoy's don't sulk. He was just extremely pissed off that the utter fuckwit Potty would do something as plebeian as cut off his own hair. Did he _want _everyone to know he was dying? Stupid dipshit.

Draco watched as Pansy directed another paper plane to land behind the Weaselette, transforming it into a heater with a bit of complex transfiguration. They had a bet going, the three of them. They would send a paper plan over, in case they misjudged the distance. It could easily be disregarded as a mistake or accident in that regard. Transform it into a heater, and count the amount of clothes that were disregarded before the brainless twit realised they had an army of heaters behind them. As of now, the Weaselette had three heaters behind her. She was giggling as she complained about the weather and unbuttoned another few on her shirt.

Dean Thomas was quite beside himself, blushing and making a blatant effort to meet her eyes directly. It was pathetic. They deserved the fourth plane that Blaise directed over to them.

Draco rolled his eyes as they told him to pick the next target, quite bored with this game already. Nothing could keep his interest lately, everything seemed so mundane.

As the thought crossed his mind, Potter crossed the yard, expression quite glazed. He was one of the only students fully clothed, and as much as Draco loathed to admit it, decidedly one of the only sane students in the grounds. Thank fuck his hair was back to normal…Draco didn't know how to talk to him when he was like that. It was a fucking slap in the face for him, a reminder that he was in fact very sick, and that he was in all probability going to die in a few months. Bastard of a mudblood, how _dare_ he remind Draco about that? He knew more than anyone, and was probably mourning more than anyone too!

Fucking Potter and his stupid disease! Draco couldn't get him out of his head, just how bloody _lonely_ he looked; he understood perfectly, coming from a hell of sixth year. But he still had his friends, and a chance of living. Potter had no one and no chance, and he was wasting his life away here! The moron should be living, not completing his bloody NEWT's.

"Draco? An answer would have been nice, Darling." Pansy was kind enough to remind him of his apparent discourtesy. Ironic, that; Draco considered it discourteous that he be forced to live through this hell of a day.

He opted to ignore her.

Potter frowned to himself, stopping his frantic pacing suddenly. He pulled a parchment from his pocket, scanning it and getting angrier by the minute. What the hell was he doing?

The next moment, he was ripping his cloak off angrily, tossing it to the ground, as well as his tie, and he rolled his sleeves up past his elbows. Blaise sniggered next to him whilst Pansy made lewd comments about how she wanted the rest of the clothes to follow. Rolling his eyes, Draco managed, barely, to ignore his idiotic companions and turned back to Potter.

He was holding something that glinted in his hand, glaring at it furiously for a few moments…then he was sprinting forwards, almost flying across the grounds.

Directly towards the Womping Willow.

He bloody _wouldn't! _

…Oh, yes, yes he fucking would!

Potter didn't slow down as he reached the boundaries around the tree, disregarding his own safety as he sprinted towards the murderous tree. It, of course, acted up immediately; branches swung down to fling Potter aside, the _stupid _prick only _just_ managing to hurl himself out of the way. Potter rolled to the side, and landed on his feet, obvious habits from the war. He didn't hesitate before launching towards the trunk of the tree again, making remarkable progress.

What the _hell _was he doing? They had all been told about the stupid morons who lost an eye to the tree; did Potter _want _to die?!

…

Oh.

A branch connected to Potter's stomach, flinging him backwards several meters. Draco watched with horror as Potter was flung backwards roughly, how he didn't move as he was tossed towards the ground. Draco winced as if he could hear the crack across his _thick skull_ as his head slapped against the ground.

He didn't know when he started running, only that he was halfway there.

However, Potter had different ideas. He crawled back to his feet, shaking his head and clutching as his chest slightly before spinning back around. He snatched _something _off of the floor, barely pausing before diving back towards the tree.

He must have made the trunk this time round, because the tree was _furious_. Branches were swinging about crazily, slamming against the ground and flinging large clumps of soil exploding into the air. If it could howl, the entire fucking _castle _would be able to hear its tantrum…

_Where was the suicidal bastard? _Where the fuck _was _he?

The Womping Willow threw all its boughs towards Draco, it's limbs coming together to smash against the ground and shower him with dirt and leaves.

It reared up again, swinging around and stretching as far as it could. Harry was suddenly visible, huddling near the trunk, doing _something_. Then, the branches came down at once, swinging towards its trunk.

Harry barely had time to glance up before he was struck again. This time, Draco _was_ close enough to hear the _crack_. Harry was flung away, landing in a heap some meters back, suddenly screeching as he landed in a sprawl on his side.

Draco was there within seconds.

"What the _fuck_ is _wrong_ with you, Potter?"

God, there was so much blood. There was a slash across his forehead, trickling over his face, into his right eye. His shirt was stained red, a few slashes on his shoulders weeping as if crying against the thin fabric. He tried to sit up and hissed, immediately lying back down, a shaking hand gingerly cradling his chest.

He blinked up at Draco, his eyes glazed and not quite focussing. "…Drac…Mal-?"

"…Since when have I been 'Draco' to you? You fucking imbecile, do you have a death wish?!"

"No…" He mumbled, "…but Death certainly wants me, doesn't he?" He slurred, smiling softly. "I…I can't breathe…" He managed to whisper out, fear edging into his eyes. "...It…hurts…"

"Well, maybe next time you'd think before you have a battle with the fucking Womping Willow, won't you?!" Draco snarled, glancing up to see Pomfery sprinting over, with a few concerned teachers. All the students were gathered, some shocked, others looking seriously annoyed. As if they had the fucking right to be!

"Pomfrey's here." Draco informed the steadily paling Potter, fighting the urge to smirk as he looked more so terrified now than he had whilst battling the killer tree. "Oh, I'm going to _love_ to hear you explain this one."

"…Don't lea…" He managed to croak out before his lips slipped shut. His eyes slowly closed, his hand against his chest falling limp. Shit. Shit! _Shit! _

Pomfrey didn't say a word as she arrived, merely glared at Draco and flicked her wand towards the unconscious Potter. A stretcher appeared underneath him, lifting him jerkily into the air. McGonagall arrived in full temper, grabbing onto his shoulders and shaking him, demanding to know what had happened.

Draco didn't answer. He didn't know if he would have, even if his throat hadn't constricted to try to strangle him.

He couldn't look away from the pale, blood smeared boy sprawled now on a steadily crimson turning stretcher.

It looked like Death had already claimed him.

.

.

.

Draco watched without amusement as Blaise study the chess board again, attempting and failing to outdo him. This game was woeful. He spent five minutes at a time trying to think of every possible move, would reach out a hand to move a piece, then snap back to reconsider. And the process went on. And on. And on.

How had Draco been roped into this? Definitely not willingly.

Finally Blaise moved a rook, three places to the left, snatching a pawn. Without hesitation, Draco's bishop edged forwards immediately, smashing the rook viciously to the ground. It didn't stop there, though. It then took a miniature sword from the queen, slashing at the fallen piece, before stealing a spear and spiking it to the floor.

Blaise simply raised his eyebrows at him, before turning back to the board. "A bit snippy, are we?"

Draco snarled at him instead, his bishop kicking the fallen rook in reaction to his temper. "Malfoy's do not _snip_. And we definitely don't take fifty bloody years to move a bloody _rook_ to take a _pawn_, to be taken immediately by _my bishop_. Do you not _consider_ the game? Is there anything going on in that plebeian skull of yours?"

"You're the one that agreed to play." Pansy sung to him from across the room, waving her wand and idly changing the furniture around the room and back again. "Don't complain if you can't take the heat."

Draco glowered, waving a quick charm to check the time again. It was almost eight. Potter had been alone in the hospital wing for a good six hours now; he should be healed well enough. Honestly, what was that idiot thinking when he charged head first towards the bloody Womping Willow? Did he have to take out his frustrations on the only tree that hit back?

Draco blinked at his hands, clenching them as Blaise moved one of his knights. Immediately, Draco sent a queen after it, staring blankly at his hands instead of the decapitation of Blaise's only remaining knight. He had spent his entire lunch scrubbing Potter's blood off his hand, more seeming to appear with each droplet that was washed away. Pansy had eventually entered the males' bathroom, ignoring all the outraged gasps, and dragged him away from the sink. But his hands still stung. He could still see the red; feel the sickly feeling of _blood_ running down his hands.

_What was that bloody idiot thinking?_

Draco sighed again, reaching over to pick up his king, twirling the piece in his hands. This set was constructed from the finest materials. The heart of a meteor rock was taken and savaged, crafted into the defending side…the other, the purest of diamond. It had been a gift from his mother on his seventeenth birthday, the only present he had received. Half the board sparkled, perfect. The other half was sunken in shadows, whispering and taunting its opponent. Draco only ever played with the pure side. He didn't want to foul himself anymore than necessary. He was already tainted.

"Forgive me if I am wrong, I'm still a slight novice at this game, but isn't the aim to capture the king?"

"How attentive you are." Draco drawled back at him, tossing his king from hand to hand.

"And how exactly am I to do that, if the king has vacated the board?"

"Magic."

Draco rolled his eyes, sighing again before replacing the piece. Chess was a vicious game, a game of sacrifice all to protect the king. This king had a crack in it. It was more vulnerable than usual, and thus, had to be protected vigorously. All the other pawns could be forfeited, willingly, if just to protect the king for longer.

Blaise muttered under his breath, trying to find a safe path for his cursed pieces to slay the king. He was all chance, and no strategy.

"Honestly Draco, enough snapping at us all. It wasn't our fault that Potty's suicidal; he's always been mental." Pansy slumped over next to them, watching the game with disinterest, and pointedly ignoring Draco's glare. How _dare _he? Potty was _his_ name. "_I'm bored_. Come on, find me something to do. Strip poker? Strip shots? A skinny dip in the lake?"

"You're trying awfully hard to rid yourself of clothing."

"If only you tried nearly as hard to rid me of my clothing." She sighed, winking at him in what he presumed she thought seduction was. "I'm bored, and I'm sick of you moping about because some deluded fucking Gryffindork tried to off himself! Don't you have anything better to do?"

Draco blinked at her, face expressionless. Did he have anything better to do? Merlin, yes. And yet, here he was, playing chess with the Novice of the Century and the Professional Tart.

He turned back to the board as Blaise moved his queen forwards, taking another of his pieces, smothering it in darkness until it fell off the board, smashing. Without hesitation, Draco moved a pawn. One square forwards.

"Checkmate." He stood up immediately, whipping his wand to repair the broken pieces and stormed up to the common room door.

He had better things to do.

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.

.

Potter's eyes were on Draco the moment he entered the room. The door hadn't even shut yet, Salazar, it hadn't even creaked! And yet, those bloody emerald globes were already trained on Draco, scrutinizing him anxiously. The brunette had paused awkwardly, one hand midway between his bed and his bedside table.

Draco wasn't perturbed. He took a step, and unfroze Potty. The arm snapped back to his body, those emeralds winced in pain. He was still pale, but thankfully not covered in blood. It was a miracle that he was still able to wince and shift.

Draco made sure to keep his face calm, to hold his mask in place. He knew it unnerved Boy Wonder when he did, and sure enough, he was licking his lips nervously and glancing towards where Pomfrey was, presumably.

"What are you doing here?"

"Tch, I don't think so, Potty. _You're_ going to ask _me_ questions? You hit your head harder than you thought." Draco sneered at him, arms crossing dangerously across his chest. Potty's eyes were wide, confused. It did nothing to improve Draco's temper. "_Why_ did you do it? Can you answer me that?"

"Keep it down!" Harry almost yelped, glancing towards the end of the room. "I'm not supposed to have visitors, and if they see you in here, then they'll chuck you out faster than you can say…uh…"

"_Idiot?_" Draco asked quietly, cheering inside as Potter _finally_ had the audacity to look guilty. "No? How about _fool? Coward? Suicidal, selfish little prick of a mudblood!" _

"Just shut up!" Potter winced as he bellowed that, hearing a slam in the other room. Damn it all to fucking hell! He was going to answer, and he was going to answer _tonight! _

He glanced at Draco, almost pathetically pleadingly, then reached over, to grab his cloak. Draco didn't miss the gasp of pain, nor did he comment on it. Why should he? The fool had done it to himself, he deserved a little pain for making Draco wor…for making Draco come out of his way to ensure the Boy Who Wouldn't Die was living up to his name.

Draco merely raised an eyebrow at him, clearly not amused. "Why haven't they treated you yet?"

"The cloak…in my cloak pocket, put it over your head, and _don't move._" He managed to wheeze out before the door slammed open, Pomfrey storming over to him angrily.

"What was that yelling about? Who's here?"

Draco, thankful of his seeker reflexes, had dropped to the floor quickly, disgust rolling over his face as he rolled under the bed. He couldn't believe he was _on the floor. _Ugh, what was the Malfoy name coming to? He lay there angrily; watching at patron stepped closer, stamping her foot like a juvenile and wanting oh so much to curse her.

"I don't want to hear another sound out of you, understand? It's bad enough that I have to treat you like this, that I have to be here to ensure you _take your damn potions_, that I have to be on my toes constantly for the next bloody attack you have, simply because you're too obtuse to give up using magic, even at the cost of your own life! And, what's worse, you _try_ to hurt yourself even more! You stupid, _selfish_ boy!" Draco had never heard her snap like that before, definitely not towards her favourite student. She sounded as if she had been crying, but Draco didn't have the wit to care. Potter had more reason to cry than she did, and he was surprisingly silent.

"Well? Aren't you even going to apologise? Aren't you going to _explain yourself?_"

Draco rolled his eyes at that, waiting angrily for the Golden Boy to start the grovelling and apologies. There was a definite reason that that Potty was Gryffindork and not a Slytherin.

He didn't expect his quiet voice to silence the entire room with a single whisper. "No. I regret nothing."

Pomfrey's reply was just a chilling. "Then you will die, alone, with no one to miss you, or most likely, even notice that you're gone." Something on the bed shifted, and suddenly the feet were closer, nearly poking Draco in the face.

"No, I don't want this-"

"Unfortunately, Mr Potter, you have no choice." _What? _

"I don't _need _it-"

"You tried to commit sui-"

"_No_, _I didn't!" _

"_And until _the Healer comes in tomorrow for a diagnostic, you're not going to do it again!" The feet stomped around the bed twice, then stormed back to the office, finally disappearing from sight.

"Undo it you stupid bat! Oi!"

Draco rolled over immediately, dusting himself off from imaginary dirt and pieces of filth. God, he would never _hide_ like that again.

Malfoy's didn't _hide_.

"The…uh…the cloak, put it on." Potter whispered, forcing grey eyes to finally sneer at him again. The scowl was lost as he stared suddenly at the bound Harry, his arms restrained to his sides. That was just…pathetic. He was trembling, for fucks sake!

Anger dispersing, Draco reluctantly reached in and pulled out the cloak, marvelling at the sheer weightlessness of it. It was an invisibility cloak, and one of great power. Draco let it run, like water, through his fingers as he felt the purest of silk, not wanting to relinquish it back to Potter.

"…It was my dad's…so, you know…don't kidnap it."

"It has to be alive to be kidnapped. I would be stealing." Draco murmured softly, finally pulling it over his shoulders to stare blankly at how his body just _disappeared_. He didn't hear Harry's small scoff, only his next gasp of pain. Finally throwing the cloak over his head too, he edged over to the still figure, sitting on the edge of the bed.

Neither of them spoke.

Draco felt his anger rise again at the thought of that stupid witch that called herself a nurse. How _dare_ she just bind him here, knowing full well that he was going to be alone with his thoughts tonight, knowing full well that he probably hadn't been given pain relievers? Of course she would know, she would be the only one there to administer them.

"Why didn't they heal you?"

"Punishment."

"You could have said the tree looked at you funnily. It provoked you."

Potter blinked at him, the traces of a smirk edging over his lips. It was a nice feeling, knowing _he_ had put it there. In _this_ situation. "They did, sort of. I'm on too many potions as it is, pain relievers, internal healers, magic stabilizers…too many could make me dependant, or something. Don't worry, they made sure I was fine."

"Why would I worry?" Malfoy's didn't worry.

Potter scoffed at that, wincing as he did. Instead, he shrugged slightly, the constant awkwardness that only he and Longbottom maintained vigorously in full action. "And just so you know, I didn't try to commit suicide."

"Well, that's a relief. You know, with the entire school being able to see you dive head first at the tree multiple times with no regard for your life or the amount of times you were hit, quite savagely might I add, we were, quite obviously, wrong. Why would that be counted as suicide? It was only a bit of fun!"

Boy Wonder winced at his snarl again, swallowing tightly. "Funny. But it wasn't suicide. God, if I can fight _it_ every Tuesday, why would I throw it away to have a tussle with the Willow?"

Well, _that_ was mightily confusing.

"Explain."

Potty stared at him guardedly, trying to consider whether or not he should divulge his secret. Those bloody eyes seemed to be taunting Draco, drawing out every fucking secret he had to offer. It was an effort to hide behind the mask, when those fucking emerald eyes were staring like that. Even the mask had its cracks.

"I can't." He was going to get a broken nose if he didn't start talking. Draco didn't necessarily need his nose, just those emeralds.

"_Not good enough, Potty._"

"Fine, then; I just _won't_. It's no one's business."

Draco smacked Harry's knee, growling in frustration. This was ridiculous; Potter had told him about his condition, he had gone to him for help when he thought the poison potion was still in his system, he had bloody joked with him, exchanged letters, chatted by the lake… but he wouldn't tell why he had fought against a killer tree?

"_I haven't told anyone about _this_, have I?_"

And there were those eyes again, calculating, nervous. They didn't trust Draco, just as Draco couldn't trust them. How could you trust something that showed every fucking emotion all at once? It was unnatural.

Draco waited a moment. Then another. By the third minute, however, he was seriously considering forcing the bottle of veratiserim he carried in his pocket down Potter's bruised throat. Would it kill him to _answer? _He _must_ know by now that patience wasn't a top characteristic on Draco's list.

"…I don't _want_ anyone to know."

"Try again."

"Fine. I'm _not_ telling you." Oh, this was just brilliant. Trust Potter's misguided sense of Gryffindorkness to flare up just when it wasn't needed.

"I have some interesting facts for you. If you're not going to tell me why you've decided to become a renowned tree-wrestler," He ignored the pointed stare thrown his way. "Then you can listen to me instead. Doesn't look as if you're going anywhere. I found a _very_ interesting book the other day, one that I've almost bloody memorized. Did you know that Succorbentis wasn't around until the early twelfth century? The first wizard to ever contract it was a bishop, who-"

"_I don't want to hear about this._"

"Hmm, interesting that. You don't want to hear about my facts, but I want you to. I want to hear about your deluded thoughts of wrestling the Womping Willow, but _you_ don't want _me_ to. Whatever shall we do?" Draco blinked again, ignoring the sinking feeling in his gut. Honestly, a _sinking_ feeling? What was he, _twelve? _ It wouldn't be willed away either, not when Potty was fucking pleading with those eyes like that.

"Dr…_Malfoy_, don't. Please."

"You don't know anything about it, so how will you fucking beat it?"

"I'm working on that already, okay? Just…don't. _Please." _

"…three people who had it went insane. _Three. _Two more were developing symptoms that-"

"Just fucking drop it!" Potter shouted, wincing as he glanced towards the door Pomfrey disappeared into. Just what they needed was another furious nurse to ruin their lovely chat. And they were having so much fun too. "The Healer is coming in tomorrow to make sure I'm not losing it, even though I know for a fact I'm not! Maybe you want to join the little therapy session so you can stop telling me I'm deluded too? I get it enough from everyone else then you too!"

…

Why was he comparing Draco to everyone else? He was blatantly fifty times better than anyone could bloody _hope_ to be; Draco was in his own different level!

"…Why are you here, Potty?" Draco made sure so speak quietly, but not pityingly. Potter was allergic to pity, apparently. "Why would you fucking return with _this_ to deal with?"

"…For my plethora of friends?" Potter joked weakly, sighing himself before shrugging. He was drained, exhausted. He looked close to giving up again; that wasn't good. Draco needed to change that. "…I dunno…they gave me the option. I could go to Mungo's, or I could come back here. I tried Mungo's, but I was stuck in a room for months on end, the only company I had was a dead fly I kept on my windowsill, apart from the nurse that gave me my medication. They don't trust me on my own, you see; it...well, there's a high suicidal rate. And being the bloody 'saviour', apparently, means that they can do anything for my greater good…it sucked." He shrugged again, not meeting Draco's eyes. "Here there are the professors to keep an eye on me, Pomfrey to do the medication and checkups and shit, and over five hundred other students who don't know when to keep their eyes or business to themselves; it seemed like the better option."

And Draco thought he had it bad, being on surveillance through the holiday. For the rest of his life seemed a bit excessive.

He huffed, throwing himself into the chair and glared at Potter. He was still shifting nervously, still pale and fucking corpse like. And it wasn't likely that he would change his stance on not telling Draco either, the stupid idiot. Well, if Draco was spending the night in the hospitalagain_, _he might as well make it a little less cyclical.

"Don't think you're going to get away with this after we're married; you'll tell me everything or you'll get none until you do." And there was the smile that only Draco could conjure. Perfect.

"The horror!" Potter chuckled nervously, shaking his head slightly and blatantly trying not to wince. His attempt was pathetic, really; Draco made sure he saw everything. "You know, you really need to stop that, it's not helping the rumours."

"Have I ever implied I want the rumours to stop?" Potter just raised his eyebrows, that stupid grin on his face as he rolled his eyes. The prat wasn't taking him seriously. "I quite like the fact that everyone thinks I've captivated the one and only Golden Boy; makes me seem omnipotent."

"Except for the fact that neither of us are gay, have no intention on being gay, and will most definitely never _be_ gay…apart from that, you have a chance."

"Fifty gallons says I _enthral_ you." Draco smirked, barely restraining from hitting Potty again as he shook his head, laughing. Oblivious prat.

"Well, enough flirting for now. It's apparently being ignored." He fucking snorted, _again. _Draco had to bite down his steadily rising annoyance. Malfoy's weren't easily ignored.

He flicked his wand, undoing the restraints on Potter's hands and ignoring the incredulous stare he received for his troubles. The dipshit. "I can put it back." He remarked with his eyebrows raised, smirking as Potter quickly thanked him and stretched his hands.

Draco set himself up on one of the beds, glancing at the steadily falling asleep Potter. He would get to know why the idiot decided to cut his life short by tempting fate with the Willow, if it was one of the last bloody things he did. He had found out about this, he would easily find out about that.

.

.

.

Draco stared at the shaking bundle on the other bed, what he assumed was Potter. He had been tossing and turning for the better part of an hour by now, muttering and whimpering in his sleep. Fucking hell…couldn't he get a _break_?

Draco knew about nightmares, more so than he cared to admit. He also knew about the humiliation of being woken from a particularly nasty nightmare.

So he stayed awake, and just watched, and hoped he would be quick enough if Potter tried to hurl himself from his bed. He hadn't brought his dreamless sleeping potions tonight, and so would have to stay awake anyway. He was tired, but not nearly as exhausted as Potter had to be.

Sighing, Draco blinked his eyes open again, running a hand over his face…

Potter jerked again, this time kicking his robes off of his bed and across the floor. Really, even in his sleep, implying a Malfoy to pick up after you was a nonexistent had a death wish…well, a bigger one than flinging himself at the Womping Willow, in any case.

Ignoring the annoyance at having to get out of the comfort of his bed, Draco padded across the floor, snatching the robe from the floor. Ugh, it was crusty from the blood.

As he did, however, a folded piece of parchment fell from the pocket, obviously shoved in precariously. Well, Potter should have hid it better if he didn't want Draco to…

…

_What the hell was this? _

_._

_._

_._

_17. Carve my name onto the Womping Willow _


	11. Numb

I do not own anything here, nor am I making a profit from this. It is purely to pass my time, and hopefully, interest other people. J. owns Harry Potter, not me.

Yo! First of all, thank you to all the amazing reviewers! You really make my day each time I see that I have another review, it's amazing - I really didn't expect so many people to like my story.

Secondly, I'm sorry that this is so late! Between Uni, writers block, work, and seriously not happy with the finished product, I know I am ridiculously overdue for a new chapter. So, here it is! I hope you all enjoy it!

Thirdly, because I am so overdue, the next chapter should be ready within a few days. Hope that makes up for the delay :)

Last, I'm sorry already for the chapter. I have a feeling a few people may not be as happy with me as they usually are. :P Enjoy!

**Chapter Eleven - Numb**

Harry glared at the fading white of the ceiling numbly. It really was an ugly colour, wasn't it? A sickly pale. Just what every ill child wanted to see when they visited the hospital wing. There was water damage in the top left corner. You would think that, being in a school of _magic_, that that would be easily fixed…but apparently not. There was mould inching its way across the surface just above Harry's bed, and even that looked like it was dying. Fantastic. Even the mould couldn't survive here.

Numb. That was what Harry had been labelled by the complete and utter dipshit of a trainee Healer that had to evaluate him. Numb. It was bullshit! All because he had wanted to cross off something on his list, apparently he was suicidal. No disregard for his own life. A hallow copy of the boy he used to be. Despite the fact that he was in the hospital wing every bloody Tuesday to try excruciating treatments just to 'check up' on his health…oh yes, he _definitely _had no disregard for his own life.

His session with the Healer did _not_ go to plan.

She asked copious amounts of questions, some of which had abso-fucking-lutely _nothing _to do with his 'suicidal' tendencies. Actually, most of which. Was it true he was engaged to Draco Malfoy? How did it feel to kill He Who Must Not Be Named? Where did he disappear to in the summer? When did he first realise that he was gay? Were his eyes inherited from his mother or his father?

…

Did any of it fucking _matter_?

She could grab that over enthusiasm and shove it up her fat arse. Maybe _that _was why he was considered 'numb'; because he wasn't eager about answering private questions to a twelve year old bint!

Merlin, it was painful.

She was obviously a gossiper. The prophet would know by tomorrow that he was sick. And he would be forced to leave Hogwarts by lunchtime, before he was confronted by the Weasley's. He would probably have to live out the rest of his pitiful life in the hospital, being ignored to his face and talked about as soon as the nurses left his room; a life surrounded by lime green. Fantastic.

Harry sighed, glancing at the door Pomfrey disappeared through before turning back to the dull ceiling. He had been left alone for over an hour now; honestly, the blonde bimbo wouldn't have _that_ much to say about him, would she? How many imaginary disorders was she labelling him under?

A knock on the door made Harry bolt up, almost wishing the bloody thing would swing open even if Goyle was behind it. There was only one person who would visit him…but the insufferably little shit of a blonde wouldn't knock, now would he?

Damn it, why was he feeling _sad_ over that? Malfoy _didn't _mean anything to him; he was simply…a what? Friend? Companion? Rival? He wasn't any of those, and yet he seemed so much bloody more…the stupid git.

Harry grit his teeth angrily as the door swung slowly open.

Okay, fine. If he was to be honest, it wasn't so much about the idiot of a trainee healer that had him pissed off. He was used to the fact no one understood the concept of 'privacy'. He was used to the fact that certain people fainted when he was around…yes, no joking, _fainted_. He was even used to the school turning on him and treating him like shit every few months of the year. This didn't faze him anymore.

No, it was _Malfoy _that had him feeling like shit; angry, but upset, and a whole fucking rollercoaster of emotions that Harry just didn't need at the moment!

The arrogant arse, how _dare_ he just leave?

Harry had woken up from a nightmare; _again_, just in time to catch Malfoy's floating head disappear through the door, muttering furiously to himself. His mask wasn't even on, so Harry caught the full front of the unadulterated _fury_ that was radiating from the blonde.

What the hell was he even angry about?

They weren't considered friends, so he shouldn't give a damn that Harry took the risk in battling the Womping Willow. They hardly spoke, and even when they did, it was mainly a collage of insults or a battle of supremacy. What right did the blonde git have to be so bloody furious and just _leave_?

So what if Harry was having a nightmare? So what if he had yelled out? It was more humiliating than annoying, in any case.

So what if he had fallen asleep mid-conversation? He had bloody been pulverised by a tree for fucks sake! And anyway, Malfoy had ample opportunities to poke him awake again, if he had chosen to.

…

_Why would he leave? _

He was the only person that _knew_ about Harry, that Harry, _Merlin_, trusted with this… and _he_ had just _left? _

…

Harry was tired of being alone. The fact that even _Malfoy_ was tiring of being company was just…depressing.

So, not only did he have to suffer Pomfrey's insistent yelling in the morning about the removal of his restraints, and the trainee idiot, but he also had to deal with Malfoy being a complete dick again. Just what he needed on a day like this; isolation.

Harry punched his bed angrily, wincing as his shoulder throbbed slightly. Damn it all! He had thought Malfoy was different. He was essentially treating him like an actual human being, half the time. The joking and spending time with someone that didn't see a walking corpse was nice. His smile was brilliant. And it seemed just as Harry was getting used to entertaining _company _again, poof! In came the prick from first year. He wasn't allowed company, apparently. No, he had to live out the rest of his…he had to live out the next few…he just wasn't allowed company.

"You're looking better, Harry! Much less pale."

Great. Just what he needed to make the day just that much better; a lecture from Hermione and Neville. And it was only nine thirty! What a day this was turning into!

Neville looked happy and cheerful, like he always did. He was rushing towards the bed, glancing around very conspicuously in an attempt to find, Harry was sure, Malfoy. Jeez, Neville was taking supportive to a whole new level wasn't he?

Hermione was trailing behind him, both looking cross and relieved, and as though she would rather be anywhere other than here. Neville had obviously dragged her along, as one of the least angry Gryffindors. Usually it would have made Harry rather happy…today, it was impending torture.

God, he wished he could at least get out of bed. He felt like such a cripple, laying like this in the flimsy pyjama's the hospital wing had to offer. It was as if his illness was put out on display. Potentially dangerous, given one of the smartest witches of their age was already scrutinizing Harry's face.

"So, how are you?" Neville asked as soon as he reached Harry, taking in the rumpled bed opposite and grinning. "Where's Malfoy gone?" Hermione's face winced slightly, but otherwise didn't change. Bloody Neville, and his stupid optimism.

"Dunno, when I woke up he was gone…I mean, not like that!" Harry rushed to cover himself, embarrassment rising straight to his face as Neville rose his eyebrows. His friend sniggered, nodding to himself.

"Sure, Harry, sure-"

"No! I mean…he slept in that bed! That one!"

Neville snorted, plonking himself on the end of Harry's bed. "I believe you, I believe you!" Then _stop laughing. _"Why are you blushing, Harry?"

"Piss off."

Harry rolled his eyes and tried to ignore his mate's laughter; it wasn't nearly as infectious as Malfoy's. Instead, he turned his eyes to Hermione.

She was standing a little away from the bed, eyes not knowing where to sit. In the few minutes Harry watched her, she glanced towards Malfoy's bed, to the door, to the ceiling, back to Malfoy's bed. When Harry eventually caught her eye, she at least had the nerve to look slightly abashed.

"Hi, Harry." Wow. Really, that was it? After weeks of mutters and downright disappointment, the only thing she could sum up now was an awkward 'hi'?

"Hi, Hermione." Okay, Harry couldn't really fault her on that. He sat there awkwardly, wondering what the hell he was supposed to say. They weren't exactly close, at the moment. Even small talk was damn well near impossible to think of. What the _hell_ was he supposed to say? Nice weather? Especially _yesterday_? Yeah, sure.

They didn't speak for a few more moments, Hermione blatantly not making eye contact, Harry staring at her dumbly. Seriously? Nothing?

"…So...you're healed now?" She was hesitant to ask, pausing slightly between each word as if he would shatter if she didn't. Merlin.

"Yup…I'm all good here."

"That's good…" And the silence resumed.

Harry had to withhold a sigh, glancing around to pray for Pomfrey to come out of her office. Hell, he would even take the diagnosis rather than this. Thank god Ron wasn't here. Harry might even prefer him right now.

"You always know how to add a bit of excitement, Harry." Neville grinned, glancing warningly at Hermione before smiling back at Harry. As if Harry _hadn't, in fact, seen the fairly obvious _conversation between them. God, he was sick, not blind. "A normal stroll not exciting enough?"

"A bit mundane, really." Harry replied with a smirk, glancing at the steadily angering Hermione. "Need to keep everyone on their toes."

"Malfoy was on his." Neville smirked, effectively vanishing Harry's. His grin widened. "As soon as you started running, bam! It was like he teleported to the tree. I've never seen anyone run that fast, besides you."

"Years of chasing each other." Harry muttered, smacking Neville as he snorted again. "_Not like that, _you tosspot! I meant years of chasing each other to beat one another to a bloody pulp! Stop changing my words!"

"I haven't said a thing!" Neville laughed again. "Were you always this easy to tease? I would have started years ago."

"I'm grateful you've only figured it out now. Really, _filled_ with gratitude. You could even say I'm indebted."

"You're spending too much time with Malfoy, you sound like him." Neville said ruefully. His grin, however, didn't falter. _Way_ too opportunistic.

"We miss you, Harry." Effectively, the almost happy mood disintegrated. "Just…why would you do that? Why would you try to kill yourself like that? What have we done to cause you to turn to…to _that_!?"

Ah, well, that was the question, wasn't it?

Harry sighed, turning to Hermione again. Arms crossed, and exchanging angry glances with Neville, Hermione looked ready to cry. She still cared for Harry, he didn't doubt that...but she was going about it the wrong way. Again.

Harry fumed at that, gritting his teeth to try to calm his anger again. She just admitted that it was Gryffindor trying to make his life as bloody hard as possible with the jinxes and the rumours…she just didn't think that it was drastic enough for Harry to snap? Everyone had pressure, as Harry was steadily figuring out. Everyone snapped at some point. It was never a matter of how much, rather a matter of when.

"We don't know what we would do without you, Harry. We miss you, all of us. Please…come back to us. Don't hide in the library and spend all your time alone…or with _Malfoy_, just…be our friend again." If she had stopped there, Harry might have considered it. Hell, he couldn't lie to himself; he missed his friends too. "We can forgive all the Malfoy nonsense, we can-"

…

Fuck that.

Harry listened to his friend speak, not hearing a word after 'Malfoy' was spoken. They would forgive_ him? Really? _Oh, it was too much.

They would we friends again, if Harry wasn't friends with Malfoy? Not that they were, of course, but still…that was almost like any pureblood saying he couldn't be friends with Hermione because she was a half-blood. Didn't they see the hypocriticalness?

"I'm not engaged to him." Harry said quietly, effectively stopping Hermione's lecture. "But I'm not going to stop being friends with him either."

"Whoever implied we were friends?"

There was no god.

Three sets of eyes flicked to the door, each one groaning when they spotted Malfoy leaning against the frame. His posture showed he did _not_ look impressed. And his bloody mask of on again, in perfect place of indifference. Wonderful.

Now that he had the required attention, he started towards Harry's bed. It was so quiet his footsteps echoed. Hell, Harry could hear his own heartbeat. He was surprised Neville didn't comment on that too.

Malfoy didn't glance at either Gryffindor around the bed. Instead, he sauntered towards his chair, kicked it a tad closer to Harry's bed, and threw himself into it. Not able to resist a taunt of _some kind, _he then rested his feet across Harry's knees, and reached for the loathed Rubik's cube on the bedside table. A perfect picture of complete and utter disregard for either Gryffindor.

It was rather brilliant, really.

Harry blinked in disbelief. Malfoy, who cursed the cube to hell and back _daily_, was sitting there playing with it. _Seriously? _What the hell had gotten into him?

"You're looking horrendous, Potty. I never knew there was a shade under 'corpse', but you've perfected it." And he came with a taunt. Who _wouldn't _want him?

Hermione sniffed next to him, eyebrows raised at Malfoy. "Harry was speaking, _Malfoy_."

"Congratulations, Harry; apparently you can speak." Malfoy drawled, not taking his eyes off of the game in his hands. What the hell?

"Uh…yeah…it's a talent." Harry was too reeled of the fact Malfoy had just willingly called him Harry. Not Potter, but Harry. It was unnerving as fuck! Voldemort popping back out of the ground would cause less of a stir!

"Hello, Malfoy." Oh, please don't go there, Neville. This won't end well. "How have you been lately? Haven't had much of a time to speak yet this year, have we?"

The silence before was _nothing _compared to the intensity of Malfoy's halted movements. Harry wanted to bellow at Neville to run. Run, and hide, and pray that he couldn't find him! Jesus Christ, didn't he ever hear that you weren't supposed to provoke the fucking rabid dog?

Sure, Malfoy wasn't rabid, or feral in the slightest…but his vicious tongue bloody well could give you a lashing that made you want to hold onto testicles and change countries.

Malfoy didn't blink. "That might be because of a steady and rather attractive lack of communication between us; Potty, inform your…_friend."_ A sneer would have seemed encouraging in comparison to the disgust that radiated from the blonde.

"You don't have to be so _rude_-"

"That's something we should change then, shouldn't we?" Neville overrode Hermione, sending her a quick glare before forcing a smile back at Malfoy. Harry tried to shrink under his sheets a little more. Maybe if he changed beds, he would be out of the firing line? "Now that you're with Harry."

Oh, god.

"Potter, inform Longbottom that every word he utters drastically lowers the entire I.Q of the room."

"Stop being so pathetic!" Harry shrunk a little deeper in his bed. "We're talking here, not you! You can get out unless you're going to be well-mannered!"

Harry winced as Malfoy slowly stopped fiddling with the Rubik's cube. Instead, he found the time to roll up the sleeves of his shirt. Up to his elbows. Exposing the still quite vivid Dark Mark on his forearm.

Hermione was practically growling.

Neville, though his face hardened, turned back to Harry in an attempt to rekindle conversation. "So, Harry…Pomfrey heal you all up? You going to be back in classes again tomorrow?" Obviously.

"Yeah, looks like it." It was difficult, trying to keep your eyes on three different people, each capable of casting several nasty spells within a few seconds. And then maintain conversation; Harry was quite proud of himself, actually.

"Can I ask _why_ you decided to attack the tree? Seriously, Harry, what the hell were you thinking?" Neville looked as if he was torn between berating Harry and looking mildly impressed. "You attacked the _Womping Willow_, the only tree that can hit back."

"It provoked me." Harry shrugged, glancing at Malfoy at his snort of amusement. "Stared at me funnily."

"It's not funny, Harry." Hermione was back in action, it seemed. "We could have lost you."

"Implies you have him." Bloody hell, the stupid git should _know_ the difference between a mutter and a near snigger by now.

Hermione glared at Malfoy once more, her eyes hardening. Oh, god, Harry knew that look; it was her Gryffindor courage coming into play. This wasn't going to be good. "I came to tell you that Gryffindor wants you back, Harry. That you don't have to hang around with the scum like Malfoy anymore."

Harry didn't dare breathe. He glanced at Malfoy, who…didn't look perturbed. He just sat there, playing with the cube. What the fuck? Malfoy _never_ let comments like that go, and yet there he was, watching it fly through the window. He didn't even blink!

"Harry?" Oh, he had been waiting for the reaction for far too long. Slowly, trying to keep his eyes on Malfoy for as long as possible, he turned back to Hermione. She wasn't looking as calm as she had a moment ago.

"Yeah, sorry, what?"

"We've already forgiven you- " _Why was_ Malfoy _snorting? "_We want you back."

…

Forgive implied Harry had done some wrong. And from where he was sitting, the only wrong he had done was contract a faulty gene.

"Hermione, I don't want-"

"As entertaining as it is watching tiny Gryffindork brains try to communicate with an ounce of intelligence between them, Potter, send Bucky and friend home. I've heard 'imbecile' is contagious."

Were they twelve?

"Funny, so is cowardice."

Yes, yes they were.

"Um…guys, can you stop-" Oh, please Neville, just give it a break. He should know a useless cause when he saw one.

"Potter." Malfoy's voice was ice. "Send the Mudblood and companion out." The threat was all too clear.

Throughout this torture, Harry thought he was doing fairly well in hiding his anguish. Until Malfoy stood up.

Pure _panic_ flooded through Harry, bloody _screaming _at him to stop the blonde. Yes, he was a complete dick most of the time, and a bastard the rest, but…

He was a constant. He was company.

And Harry couldn't risk that sliver of normalcy leave. Malfoy barely blinked whatever the crisis. He couldn't go.

Harry wouldn't let him.

His arm snatched out without permission, practically clinging to Malfoy's. God, he was pathetic. He could feel the disappointed stares radiating from Hermione and Neville, but couldn't find the effort to care. Harry wouldn't beg someone, not the Harry they knew; that Harry hadn't returned to Hogwarts, however.

"Sit back down, you arrogant prat." Don't let his voice tremble. Don't let it tremble. "Just…sit." He swallowed tightly, loathing himself as he glanced at his 'friends'. "Guys…sorry, but do you mind-?"

"He just called me a Mudblood, Harry." Hermione seethed, "Doesn't that mean _anything _to you?"

Of course it does. It does…Really, it was just a word. Harry had been called worse since the rumours started; words didn't really faze him anymore. Words that the blonde didn't utter.

His silence was enough of an answer.

Hermione's lips were trembling, her face a mixture between hurt and anger. She was still his friend…but it was better this way. She wouldn't be hurt in a few months.

_It had to be better this way. _

Harry couldn't watch as his friends left. He was so…_pathetic. _Seriously? He had just let one of his best friends be insulted, _watched_. What type of friend was he?

Malfoy turned around, a sneer on his usually impeccable face. Great. The mask was preferable. Anger and disgust rolling off in waves. It hurt more than it should that the sneer was directed at Harry; what the fuck had he done?

"I see the infamous dick from first year has made his dramatic return." Harry snapped, finally letting go of Malfoy's arm. As soon as he did, however, the sleeves came down. It was sad, in a way. Not enough for Harry to forgive the twat, though.

"Oh please, he never left." Malfoy snapped back, letting his mask slip. He shouldn't have; pure _fury_ was radiating from him, and glaring straight at Harry. He looked as though he was about to lunge at him, and beat him to a bloody pulp. And by the way his fists curled together, Harry was sure the thought had crossed his mind.

"You don't have to be an arse to my friends-"

"When are you going to get it through your thick skull that they are _not_ your friends anymore?! They don't give a flying fuck about you, and you shouldn't give a fuck about them!" Harry winced slightly as Malfoy began bellowing, swallowing nervously. He hadn't been this nervous in weeks; Malfoy looked ready to kill. "They're nothing but Mudbloods and Blood Traitors and fucking scum!"

"Oi! They're still my friends-"

"That's bullshit, and you know it! Tell me, did any of them visit when you snapped your arm? Have they wondered _once_ where you fucking disappear to all the fucking time? Did they ever notice that you don't sleep, don't eat, and _don't use magic!? _Have they!?"

"Shut the fuck up!" Harry snapped, shoving the sheets back and rising unsteadily to his feet. No. They were his friends still, no matter what this bloody bastard said; they had visited now, hadn't they? "Stop being such a fucking arsehole!"

"Slytherin."

One more comment, and Harry was going to break his fucking nose.

"No! You don't get to play the Slytherin card every time you feel like being a fuckwit!"

"Actually, I think I _will_ play the Slytherin card! Situations like these are why the Slytherin card exists in the fucking pack!" Malfoy snapped, sneering at Harry.

Was the _nice _Malfoy just a figment of Harry's shattering imagination? Honestly, what had him so worked up that he would lose all composure like this? He looked ready to kill. And Harry was slowly joining him.

"Watch yourself, Malfoy. I can be as much of a Slytherin as you can be, and I'm just about ready to knock you off of your high horse." It was an effort to remain calm and keep his voice steady; this effort was relinquished as Malfoy snorted again, rolling his eyes.

"_Try." _He sneered, arms outstretched. "You have no wand. If you try to use magic, you're likely to kill yourself. So try, _Squib_."

Harry blinked, anger vanishing as _hurt _replaced it. That was really all he was, wasn't it? Nothing more than a squib in Malfoy's eyes. A fucking freak, like he had been told his entire childhood.

"That's right, you're nothing more than a pathetic, dirty _thing_ in most wizards eyes now. Just like your pathetic little mudblood friends-!"

"Fuck you, Malfoy! You don't even bloody _know _them, just like you don't know m-!"

"I know enough to know I can't trust a fucking single one of them! Not after they melted my face off! I'm starting to believe the Dark Lord actually had some _sense_ in-"

"_THAT WASN'T NEVILLE OR HERMIONE! SO FUCK YOU!" _

Shit.

Harry's chest was heaving, his hands trembling as he regarded Malfoy. He could hardly hear, the thumping of his blood rushing through his veins. He hadn't felt this _alive_ in weeks, in months. He wanted to punch Malfoy, and keep punching until all the _anger_ was gone. Malfoy needed to _hurt_.

He didn't hear the door slam open; Pomfrey's bellows were a mile away, to him. The only thing that mattered was Malfoy's furious glare swivelling round to meet Harry's.

"_You know who it was." _Not a question, not a demand. It terrified Harry as though he was under veratiserum.

"I know who it was." Harry quietly acknowledged, watching with grim satisfaction as Malfoy blinked in surprise. "Have all along."

Harry didn't quite know how it happened, and truth be told, neither did Pomfrey. One moment, they were bellowing at each other, like they would have done years ago. One whispered sentence from the both of them, and suddenly they were on the floor shrieking.

Harry was going to wipe that bloody sneer off of his ugly face! He swung his fists wildly, barely registering as they connected to Malfoy's stupid aristocratic nose. He couldn't hear a thing. Didn't want to. The only thing that mattered was the rhythmic swinging of his fist and the crunching of Malfoy's face.

Harry cursed as he was suddenly kicked in the gut, winding him. Malfoy was just as strong as he had always been, and he lived up to his reputation.

He was straddling Harry within a moment, swinging a fist at his eye and his other at his cheek so his head swung about. It wasn't good enough punishment, apparently. Suddenly Harry's chest was pulled up by his collar, and slammed back against the tiles.

Fuck stars, his entire vision went black. Then again. And again.

Harry's fight left him, and his hearing clicked back on. He almost wished it hadn't.

_"You stupid, stupid fuck! How dare you do something so reckless! To cross it off a fucking list?! HOW DARE YOU!"_

A bang exploded the air, and suddenly he wasn't being hit anymore. His face hurt, his arms and back stung, and his head felt as if it was on fire…his stomach sunk to the edge of hell. Malfoy had found his list. Fuck, Malfoy had found his list. He…

He should just die now. Use magic. End it.

Before the ridicule began.

The ridicule that Harry just couldn't take.

"Get up! Get up now, you _useless little-!" _

Harry winced as he was hauled to his feet, limping slightly. When had he hurt his foot? Did it matter?

Not anymore.

He let himself be dragged towards a bed, feeling exactly like the trainee healer had described. Numb. He was numb again. And couldn't summon the effort to care. Malfoy had found his list. Malfoy had the list. He read it. He had _read _it.

"I cannot _believe _you would do something so _immature! _Are you nothing but brutes? You're education in hanging in the balance, Mr Potter, and you do _this?! _I don't know _what _the Headmistress is going to say…!"

Harry blinked as his wrists were restrained in the bed again, hating the constricted feeling in his chest. He hated this feeling, hated feeling…_weak._

"You two stay here and don't you _dare_ move! Resorting to _that…!" _

It was an incredible effort to finally lift his eyes and turn to face Malfoy, who was similarly restrained in a bed. It seemed she didn't trust them enough not to strangle one another while she was gone. She was wrong; only one of them would be strangled. Harry would allow it.

He was bleeding from his nose; it was obviously broken. Apart from that, it didn't look as though he was perturbed at all. Except his eyes, however. His eyes were still _furious_.

Harry couldn't even ask for it back.

They waited in silence for a few moments, both waiting for the torture to come. And did it come.

McGonagall was _not_ pleased. After an hour of berating, she decided on a week's detention. Harry got three. They weren't allowed to be near each other again. Only after lunch were they allowed to be healed.

Harry sat in silence. Only his eyes trailed after Malfoy.

The blonde left without looking back.

He assumed their engagement was off. 


	12. Dangerous Thoughts

I do not own anything here, nor am I making a profit from this. It is purely to pass my time, and hopefully, interest other people. J.K. Rowling owns Harry Potter, not me.

Thank you for everyone who reviewed, even if you didn't like it - I promised I would get the next chapter out soon, didn't I? Here you go! Enjoy, Review, and Don't Kill Me! :P

**Chapter Thirteen - Dangerous Thoughts**

Harry thought he knew loneliness.

Sitting for weeks on end in that tiny hospital room, the only visitor a nurse in horrible lime green robe who didn't meet his eye. He thought he understood boredom, the horrible feeling of having to wallow in his own self pity and regret _everything _he hadn't the chance to do yet.

Returning to Hogwarts was nothing new. The Gryffindors ignoring him and the constant lack of decent company was fine. He was used to it, having a horrendous summer.

And then that _bastard _started keeping him company, started the joking and bickering. And left.

You couldn't miss what you didn't have.

And fuck, did Harry miss it.

The rumours had stopped, with everyone believing them to have had a fight and 'broken up'. It didn't matter either way. Hermione had told the Gryffindors about Harry's lack of a rise to her defence, not that it would have mattered much anyway. And the Slytherins had noticed Malfoy's distinct return to his snarly self. So, though the Slytherins had remained neutral thus far in the year, they had returned to being…themselves. Towards Harry, of course.

The jinxes didn't really increase, but the remarks were a constant.

He was called almost every name under the sun; it seemed as though everyone had their own opinion on Harry's life, as though it was any of their business.

Harry didn't sleep.

The sheer _thought _of Malfoy having his list was _infuriating_. It was _his_ list, _his _accomplishments. _His hold on sanity._

Harry could picture him now, handing it around the Slytherin common room, everyone having a good old laugh. Shit, an angry Malfoy was likely to spread rumours around. Or truths. Everyone should know he was ill by now. Fantastic.

So, he didn't sleep. He stumbled straight to the dungeon instead of breakfast, intending to forgo the walk of shame when class started. As it was, he didn't need to. Almost everyone ignored him, except Neville, who only gave him a rueful little shake of the head.

Malfoy didn't even glance at him when he entered the room; his mask was in perfect position.

It hurt a hell of a lot more than it should.

The entire potions class was spent in silence; Slughorn even seemed uncomfortable, shuffling awkwardly as he coughed and observed the room. It was fair to say that Harry was the first from the room, and first to the next class.

The remarks started then.

"Hey, Harry."

God.

Wanting anything other than to reply to his housemate, Harry sighed before facing him. They had been sniggering for the past ten minutes, making glances at him. It was obvious some comment was coming.

"Heard you had a little lovers spat. Didn't think you would let any one hit ya around, Rhianna."

"Fuck off Dean." Harry snarled, grabbing his bags and leaving the room. Sure, the class wasn't even half over, but who cared? What could they do? Throw him in detention?

Who the hell was _Dean_ to comment? He barely spoke to Harry, even when they were friends. That bloody reference…sure, only the muggleborns would understand, but the fairly obvious sniggering was a bit of an indication that the statement wasn't the nicest. And after Harry had protected him from Malfoy…what a bloody wanker.

He had successfully hidden in the room of requirement all of lunch, away from the taunts and laughter. Honestly, it was as if none of them had ever known him. As if he hadn't been their friend.

Loneliness had never clung to him, not like it had today. He wanted out more than ever.

The 'Rihanna' comment made its rounds around the muggleborns by lunch. By afternoon, they had another little smart remark.

Harry didn't notice it at first; he was quite apt at minding his own business and staying in his own little world most days. Nothing much interested him anymore, anyway. No, but it was the fact most students were singing that caught his attention.

Sure, the school had always been a fan of singing. The 'Weasley is our King' song was proof enough. It wasn't every day, however, that you found pureblood Slytherins singing along to Rihanna, someone they shouldn't even know exists. It wasn't every day that said song was sung with hundreds of eyes staring you down either.

Harry hadn't known this particular song, until it was sung throughout the hall, by every student, every time he appeared in a corridor. The fact that it was clearly about S&M didn't help to ease Harry's already humiliated day.

Detention was just as bad, if not worse.

Bad as in he had to write lines, all whilst sitting a few centimetres from the utter bastard of a blonde, who didn't so much as glance at him.

It _hurt. _

And no one was there to see it.

Shit, no one even wanted to.

.

.

.

Harry sighed as he crossed the Great Hall, trying to ignore the chorus of tone deaf students who thought it was a brilliant idea to sing at the top of their voices. Really? Did they think it affected him anymore?

_"Cause I may be bad, But I'm perfectly good at it~!" _

He hadn't slept last night either, not a fucking wink. Today was Tuesday. Today would be his first time undergoing the diagnosis alone. Restrained, in the abandoned hospital wing, after this shit of a day. Fantastic.

_"Sex in the air, I don't care, I love the smell of it~!" _

He had spent the last few hours trying to learn different languages again, but not a word had sunk in. How _could _it? He didn't even have his list anymore, how could he possibly complete it? It wasn't the same; within a day, everything had changed. And Harry didn't know how, nor even think he would, to make it better.

_"Sticks and stones may break my bones, but chains and whips excite me~!" _

They could all burn in hell. Harry did not kill Voldemort, so they could treat him like shit for the rest of his life. Fate was a fucking joke.

Sniggers echoed around the hall, bursts of giggles and snarky comments. Harry didn't care. He was numb, remember?

"Fucking faggot!"

Until now.

Harry stumbled as a tripping jinx hit him, barely catching himself before falling to the ground. As it was, his books went scattering everywhere. Great. Just _perfect_.

_Humiliation _welled up inside him, overwhelming the anger. Who the hell had the _right _to comment like that? Seriously? As if he wasn't suffering enough!

He made quick work of picking up his books, intending to hurry from the room. Another jinx made him trip again, this time succeeding in sending him crashing to the floor.

Fuck. _Fuck. FUCK! _

Do _not_ get upset! Do _not_ get embarrassed! They're laughing at the bloody song, not at him. Never at him!

While Harry was trying to regain some of his nonexistent pride, a tanned hand appeared to help him up. What was even more shocking was that the hand belonged to Zabini.

What the hell did he want? To bloody jump on the dog when it's down?

He didn't look impressed, he didn't even look angry. Indifferent as always, he simply offered his hand. After a moment of clear bewilderment and remaining mortification, Harry allowed himself to be pulled up. He was already loathed; why not go for gold while he was at it? He could still make the entire wizarding population hate him too.

Snatching at his books, he realised the hall was silent again. No singing, no coughing… no bloody footsteps. _Silence_.

Glancing around quickly, Harry intended to mutter a quick thanks to Zabini. Truly, he did.

But Malfoy always had to have the attention, now didn't he?

He wasn't doing anything particularly threatening. He was simply leaning on a doorframe, his eyebrows raised. Staring at another Slytherin, probably in the year below him, he seemed completely at ease. If you ignored the fact the entire hall was holding its breath, waiting for his reaction to the mistreatment of Harry.

The gossipers were disappointed.

"Si vous autant que regardez mon fiancé à nouveau, et je vais te tuer."

_What? _Did the pompous twat _have _to speak in tongues all the fucking time? He was hardly understandable in English, why throw French into the mix?

Zabini seemed surprised by the statement, if his snort was anything to go by. Other than that, they left.

Before the hall could understand what had happened, so did Harry.

It wasn't cowardice. It was strategic.

.

.

.

For that day's detention they were moved to the trophy hall, to clean the million different awards and polish them. No magic, as if Harry had a choice in the matter. It felt as if she were being spiteful by just saying it.

They worked in silence.

Harry awkwardly cleaning on his side of the room, barely awake enough to comprehend that he wasn't doing much more than move the grime around on the cup, and Malfoy in a moody silence on his. Harry preferred yelling a hundred times over than _this. _

He still didn't understand why Malfoy went off the other day like he did. He found the list…so what? What did any of it have to do with him? It was Harry's and Harry's alone; no one else was allowed to judge it, least of all _Malfoy_. Shit, he was probably one of the few Harry _expected_ to understand…not to explode like a woman in menopause and beat the living daylights out of him. It was just _stupid_ about how angry he got…and over _Harry?_ It was madness. Pure madness.

Harry sat in his corner for the first few hours in relative silence, barely breathing as he worked. The quiet was hell. He had had enough of it, but he was going to be damned if he was going to apologize for something that wasn't his fault.

He glanced at Malfoy, catching a glimpse of grey eyes before flicking away again. Neither of them was going to apologize. Despite the fact Malfoy was _clearly _in the wrong.

Eventually McGonagall returned, telling him that he should go to the hospital wing for his treatment. His legs could hardly stand, already resisting his mind. He _needed_ to get to the hospital wing…his limbs were betraying him. They screamed for him to run. And Merlin, did he want to.

Instead he dutifully trailed up to the Hospital Wing, like the good little shell he was.

.

.

.

Draco barely managed to conceal his look of utter loathing as McGonagall demanded Potter go to his diagnosis. Didn't the bitch notice the look of bloody fear that was already creeping into his face? Didn't she see how his legs trembled as he forced himself to his feet?

No, apparently everyone was blind to Potter's suffering except Draco.

…

Well, sure, Draco was the instigator of most of it, but _still_. You would expect _someone _else to notice that Boy Wonder was falling apart. With him being the wizarding saviour and all that jazz.

But no, everyone remained blatantly oblivious, leaving Draco to wallow in his own…dare he even think it?..._guilt. _He shouldn't be guilty. Malfoy's didn't feel guilt. They _shouldn't _feel guilt…they shouldn't bloody well feel anything! And yet here he was, forced to glance at Potter from the corner of his eye and watch him deteriorate with each passing day.

Draco waited until the Headmistress left before he stopped polishing the cup, musing to himself. It wasn't his fault Potter was an imbecile. It was _he_ who had infuriated Draco, practically bellowing in an effort to protect his nonexistent friends. _Why _couldn't he get it through his thick skull that he didn't _need_ them anymore? They had obviously abandoned him. He should be perfectly content with Draco's company, not crave _theirs. _

…

No, he wasn't jealous. Malfoy's never got jealous, because they could bloody well buy whatever they didn't have. Potter couldn't be bought; problematic but not unsolvable. Everyone had their price. Potter's was obviously company; even the most horrendous people craved company. It wasn't natural to lock oneself away; humans were sociable by nature. And Potter had had a posse since he was a child. Of course all he wanted was friendship. He would come crawling back to Draco, apologising for some simple affection.

The thought made Draco want to throw up.

This was _Potter_. His rival. The only person in this castle that seemed capable of curing his utter _boredom_. That caught his fucking attention as soon as he entered the room. He wasn't supposed to apologize, or crave company. He was supposed to _be Potter. _

Salazar, the nervousness had returned to Draco's stomach. Regret at attempting to gauge Potter's eyes out? No, he shouldn't regret a thing.

And yet, the guilt remained.

Bloody Potter!

He hadn't done anything wrong, not this time. It was _Potter_ that had decided to be selfish and hurl himself at a tree that wanted nothing more than to pulverize him. And why? For a fucking list…a _list of things to do before he died. _

The selfish bastard.

What happened to his ridiculous sense of Gryffindor courage?

What happened to his irritating as hell stubbornness?

What happened to the fact he couldn't be fucking killed?

And yet he had already relinquished any battle by making this fucking list, and then almost getting himself killed by completing the most dangerous activity first, without planning. The bastard.

How dare he not fight this time? How dare he _risk _himself?

He had the obligation to fight! He was Harry Potter, for Merlin's sake!

Yes, he was Harry Potter. And he was Harry Potter chained to a hospital bed, undergoing excruciating treatment alone because of a fight Draco had initiated.

…

Fuck detention. His fiancé needed him.

.

.

.

Draco could hear the screaming before he opened the door. Just enter. _Enter. _Fucking enter!

His hand stayed on the doorhandle, however. He ignored the shaking, and tried to ignore the desperate shrieks. Damn it. He had seen his fair share of tortures over the past year and a bit, and he wasn't looking forward to subjecting himself to more. Being held under the cruciatus was preferable than watching Potter hurt like this. Every. Fucking. Tuesday.

Summoning his inner Gryffindor, though he would deny that until his deathbed, he opened the door and slipped inside. He was banned from being in the same room as Potty, but the headmistress didn't consider the fact he hadn't returned the infamous invisibility cloak.

Potter was alone, of course. Pomfrey was nowhere to be seen.

The screams were a hundred times worse when watching Potter's contorted face. Fucking hell.

His chest convulsed, tremors wracking his entire body, arching in on itself as much as the restraints would allow as he screamed. The sound of absolute _pain_ and _fear_, all rolled into one agonizing _plead_. God, no one should be able to scream like that.

Potter shrieked in pain, jerking against the restraints. His wrists were strained white and red, the clasps cutting into his skin as he tried desperately to tear his way free. It didn't look as if he were breathing; his eyes scrunched shut as his face turned steadier crimson. _Where the hell was that bloody witch?_ No matter how distraught she was, she wasn't likely to leave her patient suffering like this.

When she didn't appear within the next few seconds, Draco ripped the cloak off, diving towards the bed. Potter was still convulsing, shrieking, so Draco put trembling hands on his shoulders, trying to force him to lie still. He could feel every tremor, his shirt damp with clammy sweat.

Shit, _shit. _He didn't know what to do, didn't know whether he should try to get the nurse or if he should just try to still him. Blood was running down his wrists, thick, unrelenting. Fuck, Draco had to fight the steadily growing nausea rising to his throat. He couldn't _help_ him, not like this. What the hell was he supposed to do? Why didn't they teach _this_ in school? It would be so fucking more beneficial than History of Magic!

Another jerk had Draco trip forwards, growling to himself as he forced the shoulders back flat against the bed. As soon as he did, though, Potter's head started shaking, whipping from side to side in a grotesque attempt at bashing his own head. Draco was forced to remove the hands on his shoulder to attempt to still his head. The green eyes snapped open.

Relief washed through Draco, a small sign escaping before he realised the eyes weren't looking at him. Glazed, the eyes just stared through him, and while the screaming was finally cut off, Potter's face was still scrunched up in pain. The small thread of relief turned sickly in his stomach as the muttering began. His whispered frenzy grew in pitch every few seconds. Draco was powerless but to watch as he started screaming again, now spitting out words to echo through the hall.

"PLEASE!"

Draco slapped Potter.

Hard.

His head whipped to the right, the shrieking cutting off immediately. His chest heaved up and down as if he had run the length of the castle; his fists were still clenched in the restrictions, crimson droplets running down his arms.

"God damn it, _wake up Potter."_

And suddenly, those emeralds were focused on him. Shit.

Malfoy jerked backwards as if burnt, ripping his hands away from the trembling chest of the brunette. So much for composure! He was a Malfoy! Delicate and poise in all actions, including fucking heart palpation control!

Before Potter could say a word, Draco snatched the fallen cloak from the ground, flinging it to cover him. He had done his bit, he had helped Potty…now he could leave before Boy Wonder realised he wasn't imagining the blonde a foot away from his bed.

"Oi! D-don't go!"

Draco paused mid-step.

No. Don't turn around. Who cared if his voice broke? Nobody. Not one fucking person. Leave. _Leave Draco. _

"Malfoy?"

Draco swivelled around to stare at Potter, trying in vain to sit up and sight the blonde. His eyes swung around the room, taking in every flicker of a shadow. Taking in the _shut_ door. No way out. Brilliant.

"…you could _answer_…"

Draco remained silent. He couldn't answer, now could he? Malfoy's weren't often in the wrong, and when they were, they didn't admit to it. Potty was going to wait for a miracle.

"Fine! Y-you happy now? Huh? This is what you wanted to see, wasn't it? Pathetic Potter, fucking terrified of a fucking potion! You _arse!_ That was _my_ list, you dick! _Mine! _What right do _you_ have to judge it!?"

And thus the guilt returned.

Draco sighed as Potter grit his teeth furiously. He had tear tracks down his cheeks. His wrists were bleeding. And he was chained to a bed. It wasn't as if he could try to re-break Draco's nose.

_"I don't _have _anything else, you bastard!" _

"…I know."

Draco shuffled forwards slightly, sinking onto the bed. Hesitantly, he placed a hand onto Potter's arm. It was awkward, and uncomfortable, and he felt ridiculous doing it, but he didn't remove his hand. Couldn't.

"You likely to explain why you had PMS the other day?" And the moment was gone. "If not, fuck off."

And so he did.

.

.

.

Harry had had enough.

Enough of the ridicule and the laughter and the bloody singing that followed him throughout the corridors. He was sick of being tortured every Tuesday, of having to watch as his supposed friends developed their magic whilst he sat in the background, watching wistfully.

He was sick of being so bloody _weak _and _pathetic_, and just taking everything that was handed out to him. He was Harry fucking Potter! He had defeated the cruellest wizard that had lived, to be treated like shit every day?

He had had _enough_.

And Malfoy's pity was just the clincher.

How _dare_ he take the list?

That was _Harry's_, and his alone. It was the sole thing keeping him sane. And Malfoy thought he would just _take _it? Over Harry's soon to be dead body.

He entered the Great Hall for the first time in days, ignoring the fight for control as nausea swelled up inside him. He could barely _smell_ the food, let alone try to eat it. How the hell was he likely to complete number sixteen if he couldn't go near food?

Harry ignored the other tables, but stormed up to the one bathed in green. They weren't eating much either, by the looks of them.

What the hell was going on? None of the Slytherins were eating, only picking at their food. Most were throwing filthy glares at the other tables. Most of them were pale. If Harry didn't know any better, he would have thought they were humiliated…but then, they were Slytherins. They didn't get embarrassed, not by a long shot. And they never _lost_ any of the battles. The sheer thought was ludicrous.

Harry searched the table, finally spotting the blonde in the centre. Of course he was in the bloody centre; he always had to have the attention! Dramatic little prick that he was.

"We can't do _anything_, not yet." He was saying to his posse, massaging his forehead. "We don't know who it was, and we're already on a fucking obliterated standing as it is."

"Yeah, no thanks to you and your domestic with…What do _you_ want, Potty?" Harry ignored Parkinson, keeping his glare for Malfoy instead. It _irritated _him that she called him Potty…only Malfoy did that. Coming from any other mouth sounded like it was a brat saying it, kind of like calling another kid 'stupid'.

"Malfoy, give it back." He didn't care if they found out; they probably knew already. He didn't give a flying fuck about it. So they would know what he was doing, big deal. They wouldn't know the mechanics behind it…probably. He would just have to ignore them if they did; like his motto. Ignore it, it doesn't exist. His illness wasn't hurting him, his Gryffindors weren't being pricks, and Malfoy didn't exist. Now the Slytherins could join the plethora of imaginary concerns.

"Maybe if you asked nicely-?"

"_Give it back, before I make you." _Harry ignored the several wands pointed at him under the table. They could snicker and curse all they wanted; in full view of the staff, they wouldn't do much.

"I was about to last night, but our heartfelt reunion was time restricted. I'm afraid I've misplaced it."

Harry felt rather calm as he drew his wand. It wasn't in a threatening position, not in the slightest. But Malfoy still narrowed his eyes dangerously, a warning already on his lips. Harry over spoke him.

"I'd rather not have to accio it, but I will. I've already prepared a nice little note in my room about _why_ I had to summon it, which won't help your probation in the slightest. Because there is no way I'm leaving this hall, without my list." Hell, he would probably try to summon it regardless. He didn't mind if his letter was the initiator into Malfoy's long life in Azkaban; he wasn't just the saviour; no, he was the _ill_ saviour. It had to count for _something_.

Malfoy didn't say anything, but glared Harry down. His eyes were icicles, knives. He looked ready to kill. So did his cronies, but everyone knew that Malfoy was the vicious one of the lot. He was the one you had to be wary of, and right now, he was furious.

Within moments he had pushed himself away from the table and shoved Harry against the wall of the hall. He spoke in livid whispers, eyes never leaving Harry's face.

"You're worse than a girl in puberty with your rollercoaster of fucking emotions! Pick an emotion and stick with it!"

"Anger." Harry snarled, shoved Malfoy back a step. He didn't like how close they were, not at all. No one got that close to Harry, not anymore. "I pick livid fucking anger."

"And what a novelty emotion it is." Malfoy remarked dryly. "Not entirely commendable, but novelty."

"Uncommendable? Kettle; pot; black. What about _you? _What the hell do _you_ have to be so furious about? You're not the one-"

Harry winced as he was shoved against the wall again, this time held there. Malfoy was _livid. _"A boggart was released into the common room this morning." What the hell did _this_ have to do with the list? "Nasty thing, really. Everyone was shitting themselves when suddenly the Dark Lord was perched before the fireplace, wand out and ready to torture. And do you know what happened when I entered the room? Can you infer what could have happened?"

"You're wasting my-"

"The boggart changed, Potty. Instead, _you_ were in the common room. I saw _you_, being fucking pulverised by the Womping Willow again, and _again, and again. _So take a guess. Get that _thick_ brain of yours working. Why do you think I'm angry, _Potter!?" _

Harry swallowed at that, glancing at the line of Slytherins behind Malfoy. They were all pale, none of them were eating…Harry wouldn't eat if he had seen the nose-less wonder either.

"You're risking your life, for a _list-"_

"I'm risking my life by not completing the list." Harry spoke quietly, smirking inwardly as Malfoy shut up. "I'm not letting this…this _thing_ control my life."

"Build a snowman? Win a game of chess? These _aren't life accomplishments-" _

"It's the only thing keeping me from…" Harry swallowed tightly, "Just…give it back."

"I'm not going to just sit back and…fuck, you _can't risk yourself, Potter._" Shit, Malfoy was almost pleading with him. Though he would never admit it, he looked _exhausted_. His hands curled around Harry's collar went lax, barely holding him there at all. And Harry saw through the mask.

He wasn't angry. Well, yes, he was. But predominantly, he was scared. Concerned.

And it killed Harry to have been the one to place it there.

What was he supposed to say now?

They were standing almost nose by nose, pressed against the wall. Harry could feel the incredulous stares of the entire cohort of students burning into them. He could practically feel the embarrassment radiate around the room.

Malfoy was standing too close; it was warm…safe. He could feel his breath on his face, and though that was usually considered ghastly, he was finding he didn't really mind. Vanilla.

His eyes snatched onto Malfoy's adams apple as he swallowed, hesitant. Slowly, he glanced back at the exceedingly close face.

He could see a hint of nervousness swirling inside Malfoy's incredibly grey eyes.

Harry swallowed tightly, wondering where his anger went the moment he needed it. Probably ran off with his stupid courage, hidden in the depths of his mind where he couldn't reach them. Great.

Harry slowly pushed Malfoy away from him, hand trembling. For a moment the blonde didn't move; you could see it in his eyes he wasn't going to. But then, unbelievably, he took a step back.

It was all Harry needed to slide around him, and stumble from the hall.

.

.

.

What the hell was that?

His heart hadn't stopped thumping yet. He was _certain _that Malfoy was about to…

No. No, he wasn't. They hated each other. They were barely friends. Whatever…whatever _that_ was, couldn't happen. He was sick, for Merlins sake!

Harry hit his head on the desk, wringing his hands through his hair. It didn't happen, it wasn't going to happen…he didn't want it to happen?

No! Dangerous thoughts, Harry! Stop it!

Oh, god, this was going to be unbearable. Hell. Torture on earth.

What was going on with him? It was _Malfoy…_a _guy_. And he had nearly…!

Well, there went their exceedingly happy friendship.

Harry hid his face in his hands as the classroom door opened, the students piling in. He was certain his face was bright red still, and darkening with each passing moment. Maybe he could sneak out and head to the hospital wing? The new teacher didn't exactly know how to control the class yet, did she?

"Hello class! How are we all today?" Her chirpiness wasn't needed. "We'll be doing a rather easy spell today, for the most of you, considering the extraordinary experience you've already had." That was one word for it. "I've found a boggart in the dungeons-"

Harry glanced up at that, growling to himself as the smug glances went around the room. The Gryffindors planted it there, they must have. _What _happiness did they get out of tormenting other students like this? It was escalating past simple revenge.

"Which will be _perfect _in this lesson. Now, I know a Patronus Charm _can_ be difficult, especially when you don't have a dementor in the room. We can't just borrow one, now can we?" Half the class laughed. _Really? _Was that even classified as a joke? "But…I've heard…uh…speculation…that there is a student in this class that can transform a boggart into a dementor."

Harry sighed inwardly as every eye swivelled around to stare at him.

"I'm not trying to pressure this…student into doing anything he, I mean, he or she, doesn't want to. It's just having the effects of the dementor in the room was assist our class exceptionally."

Harry met her eyes with a blank stare, seeming to be listening like the rest of the class. He wasn't doing it. He didn't even know her name. Some attention he had given this class thus far.

"So…would anyone like to volunteer? To help the class?"

Harry remained sitting.

"…Harry?"

So much for the student remaining anonymous. Harry sighed, clenching his teeth. He _really_ didn't want to get up. Who was to say the boggart would even change into a dementor anyway? There was the very real possibility that would change to a dead Harry. To one lying in a hospital bed, with no hair, pale, emancipated and-

"Please, Harry?"

Why couldn't they leave him alone?

Harry sighed again, inching from his chair warily and shifting to the front of the room. Eyes followed him, drilling a whole into his back.

The teacher opened a chest she had sitting on the desk, not preparing Harry and his torrent of emotions. Shit, what if just showed him dying? He couldn't handle that, he _wasn't _going to d-!

The room went icy cold, as if all the warmth was taken from the very atmosphere. As if it never existed in the first place. Thank god.

Harry shuffled to an abandoned desk near the front, still closest to the boggart. He couldn't go further back, or it would change to the next persons fear. And, since the Slytherins had already been tormented that morning, he didn't think it fair to risk them.

Also, he didn't want another Voldemort to pop into the room, which was most likely.

He didn't listen to her explaining to people to gather their happiest memory. Until now, he could perform the spell perfectly. Until now, he hadn't realised he wouldn't be seeing his silver stag trotting around ever again. It hurt more than it should, to have his transparent deer taken away from him. When was the last time he cast it? Should he risk casting it again?

The dementor shifted closer and silver mist filled the room, protecting most of its inhabitants. Being the only one not about to cast, naturally, it shifted closer to Harry.

He…it was awful.

Screaming filled his head, his mother dying. Voldemort was laughing cruelly, mocking him, making him bow. He could _see_ George dead, a mountain of bodies, hear all their screams, could hear Ron bawling, howling for his brother to come back, to just _wake up_….

The chilly air was cut off.

Harry blinked, glancing at Malfoy, who was settling in at the desk next to him. Right there. As if the…episode this morning had never happened. Harry was mortified. Shit, he would want to talk. And it was _Malfoy_, he would _never let it go._ Not when it was perfect ammunition into making Harry's life even more of a hell than it already was.

He wasn't looking at Harry, instead blatantly kept his eyes on the shimmery _thing _protecting them from the dementor. And, desperate to not speak, Harry studied it too.

He wasn't expecting the incredulous mirth.

"_Your patronus is a dragon? How _vain_ are you?_" He chuckled, oblivious to the dementor, or the startled, angry glares of his peers.

Malfoy glanced at him, pink touching his cheeks, a slight smirk on his face. "Jealous?"

"Tremendously."

He didn't notice Malfoy slip the folded paper precariously back into his pocket.


	13. Being Gryffindor

I do not own anything here, nor am I making a profit from this. It is purely to pass my time, and hopefully, interest other people. J.K. Rowling owns Harry Potter, not me.

Thank you to all of my reviewers! Each time I get a positive review, I'm practically bouncing around and grinning for the entire day, so thank you all!

Okay, a little warning for this chapter. Firstly, let me apologise for the slight gore...it's not bad, and it's not permenant! I swear! Some won't like it, some won't get why I had to do it this way, and some will point out the fairly obvious other ways it could have been done...But I needed to put it in there to really get my story going! So sorry, but it's staying :P With that out of the way, please enjoy! I tried to make it a little long for a treat! :)

**Chapter 14 – Being Gryffindor**

Harry got up for the third time in that hour, collecting his bag and securing it on his shoulder, determined, _this time_, to leave the library. Malfoy probably didn't even remember to meet him here. Probably forgot. He had waited for an hour, and he hadn't showed. The prat thought it was fun, did he? Wasting Harry's valuable time.

Harry slowed again, hand on the library door. Malfoy _did_ turn up, wanted or not, every Tuesday night. _Every. Single. One. _What was to say he wasn't simply held up? Or embarrassed like Harry was?

Neither had apologized for their fight. Harry was ignoring it, just like he did everything else. The only inclination Malfoy had to show he was in any way apologetic, even though those words would _never _cross the bastards lips, was the fact Harry had found his list folded neatly in his pocket the other day. It could only have been Malfoy, and the action spoke a hell of a lot more than Malfoy ever could…well, without having to murder Harry afterwards, anyway.

Neither had mentioned the impossibly tense moment in the hall either.

And neither was going to.

Harry bit his lip hesitantly, hand tightening on the door. No. No! He wasn't going to talk himself into going back to the table again. He had already decided that he wasn't going to wait any longer. He had waited, like he told Malfoy he would…it was hardly Harry's fault that he neglected to tell him _when_.

…Would he regret leaving?

Swearing to himself at his impeccably irritating thought process, Harry stalked back to the table, tossing his bag down savagely. He would wait another ten minutes, and if he didn't turn up, then forget it.

God, why was he even meeting with Malfoy? He either laughed at him, or made him think he was stupid. Every bloody time they spoke. The stupid Universe was having a field day.

Giggling erupted to his left. Several girls, not at all accustomed to the usual _silence_ that occupied a library, were laughing in hysterics to the left of him, joy radiating across their young faces. Harry quickly glanced away, turning instead to several boys who were chuckling quite loudly. They were desperately trying to hide whatever they were reading from the stern librarian, their faces red and almost pleading with her. Further across the room a few Ravenclaws were studying intensely, one murmuring to the other to make her smile brightly every few moments.

That tight feeling was constricting his chest again, making him become absorbed in trying to collect his things from his bag. Why was he jealous of people he didn't even know?

Harry blinked, staring at the map in his bag. Well, at least he would be able to tell where Malfoy was, or if he had an inclination to actually come today. He pulled it out, muttering under his breath and started to study the map. He had better have a good reason for being so late. If he was cursed, or in the Hospital Wing, fine. If he had slept in, he could go to hell.

Harry had been up since five that morning, staring at the ceiling of his room sullently. He couldn't sleep, not without the nightmares. So sleep was becoming redundant. Instead, he had made his way to the library whilst everyone was at breakfast, and remained hidden here throughout the day. Procrastinating, and trying to ignore the upcoming potions quiz. His Rubik's cube had two sides completed; that _had_ to be a good omen.

Where _was_ he?

Harry had read up upon quite a nasty spell over the summer; one that would work against the vain blonde rather well. It changed hair colour…permanently. In addition to this, the hex couldn't be removed, until the caster deemed fit. And Harry thought the blonde would look marvellous with flaming, hot pink hair.

Harry frowned, glancing over the map again. He couldn't find him. He wasn't amongst his friends in the Great Hall, the Hospital Wing was empty, except for McGonnegal and Pomfrey, who were both pacing together. That didn't bode well, Harry thought wirily, turning back to the map. Hufflepuff were on the quidditch pitch with no spectators, unfortunately, and the Slytherin common room only had several random people he didn't know. Where was he?

Harry trailed the known path up to the library, wondering if he was stalking the corridors…and scowled at the faded paper. One dot showed 'Harry Potter', sitting seemly alone in the library. Directly across from him, _at the same bloody table_, sat 'Draco Malfoy'.

Harry folded the paper, muttering to make it turn blank again, and scrunched up a random bit of paper into a ball. Then, he tossed it angrily at Malfoy's head.

"Really funny. Seriously, your humour becomes you."

"Well, Potty, unfortunately I cannot say the same for you." With a flourish, Malfoy appeared under the cloak, appearing to pop out of nowhere. The Ravenclaws stared at him with gaping mouths, obviously unaware of the cloak he hid on his lap.

"No one knows about my cloak, and I'd like to keep it that way." Harry hissed, watching furiously as Malfoy shuffled closer, tossing him the cloak after a moment's hesitation.

"Ignore them; they probably thought I had apparated. And anyway, I don't mind them thinking that I've somehow overcome the anti-apparation barriers on the school. Makes me omnipotent, doesn't it?" Malfoy drawled lazily before smirking again. "You certainly change your mind a lot, don't you Potty?"

"Just how long were you there for?" Harry snapped back, not even trying to keep a reign on his temper. All around him people were enjoying themselves, and here he was, waiting for a bastard already there? He had other things to do with his life!

"I skipped breakfast, was already here when you arrived." Malfoy smirked again, raising his eyebrows. "Why, you don't _regret_ asking me here, do you?"

Harry scowled at him again, crossing his arm angrily and making a point of shoving his chair away from Malfoy's. Stupid prick, how _dare_ he try to use the list against Harry?

"Do you have to be an arse every time we talk?"

"Do you have to be a bastard?" Malfoy quipped back, smirking. He wasn't the least bit perturbed at being sworn at. Damn him. Did he _have_ to win every time?

"Coward." Harry muttered, reaching in to pull out his Rubik's cube. He could finish it, if he could just figure out how to move the other side's without ruining the ones he had already completed.

"Dickhead." Harry blinked at the lazy, late reply. Malfoy didn't seem upset at all. In fact, he had that bloody challenge in his eyes…and who was Harry to turn down a challenge?

"…Egotistic."

"Big word."

"I try." Harry couldn't stop the smile that was spreading across his face, just as though he suspected Malfoy couldn't stop his grin.

He shrugged, not able to come up with any but the common ones. "Fuckwit."

"Git."

"Hormonal." Ouch. Harry frowned, thinking quickly. I. I…

"Ingrate."

"Jackass."

"Kiss-arse."

"Loser."

Bloody hell, this was hard. And Malfoy looked as though he was having _way_ too much fun insulting Harry. What could _possibly _be fun about this? "Moron."

"Neanderthal."

"O…Orangutan!" Harry managed to get out, feeling himself go bright red. It was the stupidest insult he had ever heard, and from Malfoy's laughter, he thought so too.

"_Orangutan? Really?_" He snorted, trying to get a hold of his laughter. Harry could feel incredulous stares around the room. _The _Draco Malfoy was…laughing? The apocalypse was beginning. "You Ponce."

"Queen."

"Retard."

S. Oh, there were so many 'S's to choose from. "_Slytherin_."

"That's a compliment." Malfoy smirked, eyebrows raised as Harry rolled his eyes. Really, it wasn't. If only Malfoy knew how it was one of the ultimate cusses among the other houses. "You twat."

"Useless." It wasn't true, but he may as well through it in. How many 'U's was he likely to get?

"Vanker."

"_What?" _Again, Harry was almost falling off of his chair. It may have been the accent Malfoy used, it may have been the pink that filled his cheeks. Either way, mirth was overfilling Harry. He felt…_happy. _

"It's how Russians who have learnt English as their second language say 'wanker'." _How _could he explain that with a straight face?

"Okay. Fine. You complete and utter _wanker._"

"Xlimpy…one of my house-elves." Malfoy added as soon as Harry opened his mouth. He was really scraping the bottom of the barrel, wasn't he?

"_Yesterday's_ bad boy."

"Zero."

They stared at each other, each one smirking and trying to contain the mirth that just wanted to break free. Harry could never have done this with Hermione, or Ron; they would have been insulted too easily.

"You're such as prat."

"Prick."

Chuckling, Harry turned back to his Rubik's cube. Had he been angry before?

They managed to work quietly for the next few minutes; Malfoy studying fastidiously whilst Harry procrastinated.

"I'm on there twice."

"On _what_ twice?" Harry glanced up from Rubik's cube, confusion, he was sure, written all over his face.

"Your list. I'm on there twice." Malfoy finally looked up from his book, mask in place. "Why?"

"You're not." Of this, Harry was sure. He wasn't sure around Malfoy anymore, not after that very tense moment in the great hall. Every time Malfoy spoke it went in one ear and out the other. Every time he moved Harry found himself jumping and nervous. His bloody stomach was out of control, twisting and diving. It was driving him insane.

"Yes, I am."

"No, you're _not." _It was _Harry's _list, after all. You would think he would know. "You're number twenty two. Not very far up, are you?" He couldn't resist the jibe, and, naturally, the Malfoy smirk was already in place.

"At least I made it on the list; I see Weasel didn't." Yeah, well…maybe he should add him on? To become friends again before…no. He couldn't. That would defeat the purpose of driving them away. "And I'm still on there twice."

Harry ripped the page from his pocket, scanning the list. He had it memorised, the bloody twat was _not _on here.

"I assume Wizard or Mudblood will involve me, since it's clearly a Slytherin game."

"That doesn't mean you're on here twice."

"Since it's _my _game, yes, in fact, I am." Malfoy sneered, but his eyes weren't in it. He had to fight to keep the sneer pure, instead his lips curling with amusement again. "Three times, if you include the one about wizards chess."

"…Are you any good at chess?" Harry needed an easy opponent, someone who he actually had a chance against. Hopefully a muggleborn, who had never played any form of chess before.

"I would obliterate you." Malfoy drawled lazily, making another mark in his notes. "And that's as humble as I get. Try Blaise; he's abysmal. I could teach my owl to play better than him. In fact, I already have." Yeah, because Harry could easily approach Zabini and challenge him to a chess match. Sure.

Malfoy glanced at the cube, contempt finally slipping into his face. "Tell me, are you going to study potions at all, or continue to waste your life away. The latter preferable?"

"Wasting my life away…as in sitting at a table all morning and spying on me?" The withering glare was not a happy gesture.

Harry sighed, making an effort to drag out his book. Yes, he wanted to pass potions this year; it was the only class he could actually still participate in. Did he want to study for the test? It was based on useless potions of the thirteenth century. Would _you_ like to do that test?

He groaned as Malfoy shoved parchment towards him, waiting until Harry picked up his quill before turning back to his own work. Seriously, he could be as controlling as Hermione when it came to homework.

.

.

.

Detention on a weekend. How vindictive could McGonagall be?

Cheerful voices echoed up the walls of the castle, screams and laughter. It was snowing today, so everyone took the chance to have a monster of a snowball fight. Harry could see them sprinting around from his window, tackling each other and pretending they weren't going to catch pneumonia. It seemed fun.

He glanced back at his paper, at the three pages he had already completed. His hand was starting to get sore from the insistent writing. Seriously, how much did she think they could write on the techniques of transforming a mouse into a hairpin? There was only so much you could say on the matter. Harry was already repeating himself. It was just tedious.

He glanced at the front of the room, where McGonagall was marking papers with a frown. She seemed oblivious to what they were doing; hell, Harry had spent the last ten minutes staring vacantly out of the window, and she hadn't said a word.

Malfoy was seated next to him, like always. It seemed she thought shoving them together would irritate them, given their fight. Oh, how wrong she was.

Every time Malfoy shifted, Harry's eyes were on him. Every time Harry glanced at him, their eyes met. Every time Harry paused in writing long enough for McGonagall to glance up, Malfoy would kick him to remind him that they were supposed to be supervised. In all, it was probably the worst mistake McGonagall could make. Harry's stomach was twisting like you wouldn't believe, turning and uncomfortable. He wished it would just stop; he wasn't nervous at all, so why did his gut feel so odd?

Malfoy kicked him again, smirking as Harry almost jumped out of his seat. Bloody hell, some _warning _would have been nice. McGonagall wasn't even watching at the moment!

He was fully intending to kick him back, preferably harder, when one of Malfoy's parchments slid across the desk. It barely moved, but it was enough to catch Harry's attention.

_This is as entertaining as slitting my own throat._

If she caught them, Malfoy would be massacred. Harry had to fight to keep his face straight, glancing at McGonagall before writing on one of his own papers.

_You thought detention would be interesting? _

Malfoy didn't even seem to glance at the note, but he smirked. He shifted slightly, stretching his hands before returning the parchment. He didn't even glance at their headmistress; in hindsight, he should have. Neither boy noticed that they suddenly had her rapt attention.

_With you here, yes. _

Harry blinked in surprise. That was a compliment. Malfoy never handed out compliments.

_Want to go to Hogsmead tomorrow? _

Well, that was even more unanticipated. Harry frowned, glancing at Malfoy. He stared steadily back, the challenge in his grey eyes. Why would he want to go to Hogsmead? Sure, meeting up in the castle was fine. Going outside together made their friendship just that much more _real. _

"Mister Malfoy, please move to the desk over there. You boys are in detention, not a common room." Harry jumped as the voice rung out, cringing as their papers were accio'd to the front of the room. She read them with a slight frown, taking far too long for a few sentences. "Mister Malfoy, I don't want to repeat myself."

Harry swallowed nervously as she _still _read their miniature conversation. It couldn't be _that _interesting, surely?

Malfoy sighed dramatically, picking up his belongings as he prepared to move. The noise seemed too loud for the impossibly quiet room. The warmth of someone seated near him was slowly seeping away.

Should he go out? He hadn't been to Hogsmead yet this year. A drink at the pub wouldn't go amiss. Grabbing a hold of his determination before it fled like the coward it was lately, Harry stared at Malfoy's retreating back until he turned around. They always knew when the other was watching; it was like a sixth sense they had. Often creepy, now fairly useful.

Harry nodded, quickly dropping his head as Malfoy grinned. It would start off a chain of smirking and smiling that McGonagall just wouldn't appreciate in her detention.

Hmm. What else could he write about the stupid hairpin? Decorations? Usefulness?

Harry snatched out his hand as a paper plane landed on his desk, quickly coughing to try to distort the thump he had made. Bloody hell, didn't Malfoy have a hint of discretion? Didn't he know not to push the boundaries of an already pissed off teacher?

Both were glaring at him, McGonagall with suspicion, Malfoy was amusement. The git, he was bloody laughing over there, and she didn't even bat an eye!

Slowly, only every few seconds, did Harry begin to unfold the paper plane. It was difficult, when you had a professor analysing your every movement, and when you looked guilty as hell.

_It's a date. _

…

Shit. 

.

.

.

Harry was a ball of nerves. His hands were bloody sweaty, he felt as though his face was a permanent red, and his stomach was twisting nervously. What the hell was wrong with him?

It was just friends going out, right? Just some friends, having some fun outside of school. It wasn't a _date date_, was it? Malfoy didn't see it that way, right?

Bloody hell…what do you wear to a non-date? Harry had changed his shirt three times…three bloody times! The first was a normal red, but Malfoy was sure to have some comment about that. The next had a hole in it; it was likewise discarded. The last one he wasn't sure of, he had been given it to him for Christmas one year, but he had never worn it. You could easily see the creases where it had been folded.

Neville had been watching the debacle with amusement, and eventually pointed out the obvious; it was snowing. He would be wearing a jacket anyway, right? But then there was a new issue…he only had a few overcoats. One was from Dudley, which was _way_ too big for him and made him look like he was twelve. The other one was red. Which, naturally, meant Malfoy would have something to say about it.

Harry fingered the sweater, a wave of homesickness overwhelming him. It was the last one Mrs Weasley had knitted for him. The last one she would probably knit for him.

He decided to wear it.

He _never_ spent this amount of time trying to figure out what to wear…why was he doing it now? He felt like such a moron. It wasn't even a date!

'_It's a date.' _

…

Why would the git even write that? Did he have some sordid amusement in toying with Harry's emotions?

"Calm down, Harry, I'm sure he won't mind whatever you decide on wearing."

That input was _totally_ appreciated. "I care what he thinks. What would give you that impression? Seriously, does it _look_ like I care about Malfoy?" Harry ignored the raised eyebrows Neville threw his way, instead opting to run a nervous hand through his hair. "It's not a date."

"Come on, I'm sure you've spent plenty of time together. What's new this time? You've done it all before."

Had they?

They only times they really had conversations was when Harry was strapped into a hospital bed. Or when his magic was making him sick. Or when they approached one another to taunt, tease, or fight. This was going to be _completely _different!

The walk to the great hall was like a walk of doom. Neville opted to go with him, with the pretence of just going to breakfast. In reality, Harry was sure, he was going to snoop and get a laugh; his face _still_ hadn't returned to its normal shade. What the fuck was wrong with his body? Why did it insist on humiliating him?

"Just give him a peck and transfigure some flowers and you'll be right as range."

"_It's not a date!" _Ew. Even the _thought _of giving Malfoy some flowers was likely to leave Harry with a well aimed punch to the nose. It just wasn't going to happen.

Harry finally made it to the hall, sighing in relief as Malfoy wasn't there yet. Maybe he had forgotten? He didn't know whether to be happy or upset at the thought, so opted to remain neutral and lean against a wall whilst chatting with Neville. Thank god he had one friend left; he would have looked awkward waiting alone in the massive hall, fiddling with his thumbs and counting the minutes; the epitome of 'desperate for communication'.

"_Excuse me_." Harry glanced to the right at the thick French accent, his grin fading slightly as the moron from the other day tried to pass him. He wasn't even that much taller than him. He could, in his happy disposition, probably take him on in a fight. Why hadn't he fought back when he was tripped? Disregarding the loneliness, depression and plainly how _numb_ he had felt, Harry couldn't fathom why he wouldn't be a Gryffindor and pull out his wand and curse him into oblivion.

The Slytherin grimaced at Harry, his lip turning up in a snarl. He wasn't that attractive, all in all. Probably a relative of Crabbe or Goyle…it would explain why he hated Harry, in the least.

Harry didn't care about the seventh year kid; he couldn't be bothered right now. Until, at least, the kids eyes travelled past Harry, and widened with fear. He paled faster than Harry thought possible, holding up his hands as if in defence. "I…I didn't! I swear!"

_What?_

Harry frowned in confusion, sharing an oblivious look with Neville. They hadn't said a thing; why was the Slytherin bloody _white_ with fear? He was bloody sweating as if under interrogation. Cluing in that someone had terrified him, Harry searched the hall, curious as to who could stir such a reaction…

Malfoy was leaning on the opposite wall, eyebrow raised.

Ah. That explained it.

"Stop terrorising him." Harry called, grinning as Malfoy had the nerve to look innocent. More likely the apocalypse would occur. "He hasn't so much as looked at me."

"Better not have." The blonde replied easily, heading towards the doors lazily. "I'd have to kill him." Harry snorted at the response; yeah, sure. He turned back to Neville…where the hell was he?

Harry blinked in confusion; with that one short conversation, both the Slytherin and Neville had disappeared. It was as if they could teleport.

"Come along, Potty. I want to get back before dinner." Before dinner? What exactly did he have planned? There wasn't that much to do in Hogsmead, after all. A few shops, a few pubs…that completed the experience, really. "…Really, Potter? Red? Couldn't you go a day without having to remind me that you're Prince of Gryffindor?"

See? One of the first words from the arrogant pricks mouth.

"Says the Prince of Slytherin?"

"You don't see me parading _my_ colours."

Sure enough, Malfoy only had a large overcoat on; no green in sight. The bastard, he had already made a competition between them. And they hadn't even opened the doors yet.

Harry sighed, following Malfoy into the cold. It was slightly awkward, walking down the large hill toward the little village. Couples were everywhere, almost galloping at the prospect of alone time. Harry could hardly walk in the new snow, sinking up to his knees in places. His trousers were already soaking; the chill was setting in now, to try to freeze his legs off. Great.

"The Gryffindork team is pretty abysmal without you as seeker."

Harry blinked in surprise; his grin was already stretching across his face. "Was that a roundabout way of complimenting my skills?"

Malfoy didn't look impressed; he merely gave a lazy glance, eyebrows raised. He didn't really have to answer after that, but did anyway. Harry supposed he liked to hear himself speak. "Never."At least he had tact. "I'm simply stating that Gryffindor now provides Slytherin countless entertainment at every game and practise session…and whenever we see their faces. Honestly, did you _see_ the Weasellette miss the snitch last game? It was hovering by her ear for a majority of the game, taunting her, but she has the eye sight of bat. Why did she think the Hufflepuff seeker kept glancing at her? Did she honestly think he had some sadistic attraction to weasel?"

Harry laughed at that; it felt good to remember Ginny's horrible first game of the season. The snitch was always a few meters from her, but she never saw it. Instead, he was making eyes at the other seeker, who was just trying to edge a bit closer. It really was pathetic; it had cheered Harry up immensely.

"Honestly, Hufflepuff beat Gryffindor. It was _disgusting_. Slytherin doesn't even care for quidditch anymore, now that we have no competition. We're considering dropping out of the cup altogether."

Harry stared at the blonde, trying to find the bluff. He _couldn't _be serious…could he? No, Slytherin would _never_ drop out…but there was no lie on his face. Malfoy smirked at Harry's incredulous glare, raising his eyebrows again. "Don't believe me?" He glanced around the hill, smirking as he caught sight of a few of his Slytherin cronies. Oh, _don't _draw attention to them…

"Blaise!" Harry wanted to dig a hole in the snow and _hide_ as four pairs of judging eyes turned around to glare at Harry. They probably wanted to spend time with Malfoy today, and instead he was with Harry…oh, well…they had _years _to spend with him. Harry had months. "What's Slytherin doing about Quidditch?"

Zabini blinked, frowning slightly before yelling back a response. "Dropping out!"

No. They _couldn't _be. It was…sacrilegious! _No one _dropped out of the cup…_no one_.

"You've _got _to be kidding…that's just…" Harry didn't even know what to say. It was as if he had just found out Santa wasn't real…despite the fact Santa had only ever given presents to Dudley. The ideal was nice. If Slytherin dropped out, it just _wouldn't work._

"Theodore, you owe me twenty galleons."Malfoy called out, smirking as Nott cursed and kicked a pile of snow. The Slytherins howled with jeers. _What? _

Malfoy just glanced at Harry, obviously amused. He tsked at him, shaking his head sadly. "Little naive Potty…tut tut. Why would we drop out if it's _ensured _we're getting the cup? Thanks for helping me win the bet, though."

Harry knew he should have felt annoyed, or angry, and being bet upon…but seriously? He wished he could have fun like that. He couldn't find it in himself to snap back at the decidedly quiet blonde. "…if you give me half, it's even."

"Blaise has already stolen half." Malfoy laughed, trudging a path through the village. It was odd; it was almost as easy to talk to Malfoy than it was to speak to Ron or Hermione. Easier, in fact. He didn't have to mind his language, for one thing, because Malfoy was likely to say something ten times worse. It was just…easy.

Harry followed him into the Three Broomsticks, grateful he chose a spot away from everyone else. He didn't want to have to put up with nosy peers today; it was a day to relax, and have fun. Maybe. If his bloody stomach would settle down enough for him to enjoy it; it was like a bunch of nerves was doing to tango in his gut.

That, and Malfoy didn't approve of butterbeer. Instead, he brought back a fairly large bottle of firewhiskey, and demanded Harry and he drink a shot first up.

Harry coughed as it scorched down his throat; it defiantly wasn't as warm as butterbeer…it was its entirely own genre. Bloody fire seemed soft in comparison.

Harry sipped his drink, wincing at every miniscule drop. How could Malfoy fling it back like that; he barely blinked, let alone winced. He either had absolutely no taste buds, or he was immune. Something Harry found highly improbable.

…

"So…" Harry had to withhold a cringe at the cliché line; bloody hell, he was just trying to stave off the awkward silence! "…Was there anything in particular you wanted to talk about that couldn't have been said in the castle?" There had to be _something_ he wanted to say. He wouldn't have invited him out here for nothing.

"Not particularly." Okay, apparently he would. "Just wondered if I could drag you away from the burrow you've made in the corner of the library. It appears that I can."

There was no _burrow_. "Apparently." Harry remarked dryly, rolling his eyes as he only received a smirk in reply. Honestly, _why_ was he staring? Didn't he get enough of it during school hours? "So…uh…"

"Use your words, Potty." Malfoy smirked again, his grey eyes shining with amusement. Finally; _that _was what Harry wanted to see. His eyes were as open a book as Harry's face was claimed to be; if he was amused, he was letting his guard down. The friendly, easy Malfoy was making an appearance.

"You know, it's not really an insult anymore, is it?" Malfoy just blinked at that, a smile toying on his lips. "I mean, you say it all the time, but you don't mean it…I mean…argh, I can't get this out." Harry grabbed his glass and tossed back his drink, spluttering a second later as it scorched his tongue to pieces. Holy shit, people _couldn't _drink this for _fun_…it was more like a torture device!

"Elegant, even for you."

"Oh, shut it." Harry rolled his eyes, rubbing his tongue with the napkin. Bloody hell, he was looking like a right tosser at the moment. "What I meant to say, was that it isn't an insult anymore."

"You didn't _mean_ to say it, you _did."_

_"_Just...stop trying to confuse me!"

"I don't need to _try_."

"Okay, okay! I get it; you're Draco Malfoy! Omnipotent, superb, and perfect in every possible way!"

"And don't you forget it."

Harry snorted, fiddling with his empty glass. The prick, he should know what he was trying to say. Harry wasn't an idiot, not by a long shot. Not like Malfoy was trying to make him out to be. He shouldn't need to explain every statement.

Malfoy didn't try to elaborate on the conversation. He just sat across from Harry, occasionally sipping his drink…and stared. Those bloody grey eyes saw every shift; it was unnerving how observant they could be, especially considering how their owner wasn't going light on the drinks.

Harry glanced around the room, sighing inwardly. The Slytherins didn't look too pleased at the moment. Or, Parkinson didn't. She was sitting across the room with her friends…but had blatantly pulled her chair away so she could sit with her arms crossed in the middle of a walkway, glaring at their table. It was impossible to tell who she was oh so disgusted with, but Harry's bets were on him.

"Your friends don't look too happy."

"Ignore her."

"I didn't tell you who it was." Harry smirked as Malfoy rolled his eyes. He hadn't even turned around yet.

"Prove me wrong, Potter. I'll bet you my recently earned twenty galleons." Damn him. He smirked back, shaking his head slightly. "I bet she's tapping her foot. Arms crossed? Looks as if she's about to castrate someone?"

Harry glanced back at her, taking in how her eyes narrowed and her foot started tapping against the wooden floors. Well, that was mightily creepy. "She may be."

"There's no 'may' about it. Wait for someone to tell her to move, and she'll castrate them. My bets are on Thomas."

"You're on. I bet it _won't_ be Dean." He might as well cross something off of his list while he was out here, mightn't he? "You're about to be crossed off of the list, Malfoy."

"Wouldn't count on it." Harry wasn't sure if he was supposed to hear that or not, so opted for ignorance. As usual. Why would Malfoy whisper though? It was a tad odd.

"Are you planning on going home this Christmas?" Harry asked suddenly, chasing off the silence yet again. It must have seemed odd to Malfoy, the utter change in conversation topic, but he didn't comment on it. Yet.

"I'm staying here, actually." He seemed blasé about it, but his eyes suddenly hardened. Damn, that wasn't what Harry was aiming for. "Don't particularly want to go home this year."

"Why?"

Oh, of all the _stupid_ things to ask! Stupid! _Stupid! _

Harry wanted to shoot himself in the head right then and there. Of _course _Malfoy wouldn't want to go home. Maybe his magic _was_ addling his brain.

"I mean…sorry, you don't have to-"

"It doesn't feel right." Malfoy overrode Harry, eyes glinting. He was on the defensive; any wrong word and he would become a snake better than an animagus could. "Doesn't feel the same anymore." Of course it wouldn't, having a mad man living there for the worst part of a year. "I suppose I'll have to do my share of charity work and entertain you for Christmas." It should have irritated Harry; instead, guilt swept through his stomach, and, he was sure, across his face.

"Uh…yeah, maybe…"Malfoy's eyes snapped onto it, dragging out an explanation before a word could be uttered. "I mean…I'm visiting my relatives this Christmas. Just trying to sort things out between us…"

"You don't get along?" How did Malfoy _not_ know this? Sure, he knew Harry never went home over Christmas, but how didn't a rumour about the Dursley's reach him? He assumed _something _would have made its way to the blonde; something about them loathing one another's guts. Apparently not, considering the curious expression slowly redeveloping in Malfoy's eyes.

"I…have no idea, actually. My cousin was okay the last time I saw him…and I think my aunt was regretful…it's better than nothing, right?" Harry was actually counting down the days with dread; he had to tell them about his…illness. And they would care; he had lived with them his entire life, there was no doubt that they would care. It was just going to be hard, having to say it for the first time.

They sat in silence for a few moments, sipping on the disgusting drink. An oppressive atmosphere had settled around them, noticeable for everyone in the room, when considering the glances and points they were receiving from the other occupants. Pansy looked positively glowing.

"I have something that will cheer you up." Malfoy said suddenly, gulping down the last of his drink and shrugging back on his coat. He looked nervous suddenly, but laughed it off. "I was saving it for later, preferably after you had eaten something, but now will do."

"I don't eat much anyway." Harry tried to say, wilting under the blank stare he was given. Malfoy didn't look impressed.

"I know you don't eat. Hence why I was going to shove copious amounts of chicken down your throat." He even looked innocent while saying it. "But, alas…that will have to wait until dinner. If they let me near you."

That boded well. "What do you mean? The detention is almost up; they can't separate us forever."

"They may try." Malfoy smirked, running a hand through his hair. He looked excited though; nervous, but bloody thrilled. The elevated mood was contagious.

Harry followed him back outside with a grin, only a slight frown on his face when Malfoy stopped in the centre of the street. What the hell was going on?

"Hmm…could be a little clearer. At least it isn't snowing…it would be impossible to find…"

"Find what?"

Harry blinked as a grinning Malfoy spun back around to him, laughing apprehensively. "I've decided to be a Gryffindor for a change." He looked disgusted at the thought, but pressed on regardless. Harry pretended not to see him cringe. "You will apparate over there." He pointed to a random spot in the middle of the road.

Okay…not following.

"Um…I don't really get what you're-"

"Just trust me, okay?" And with those eyes shining with excitement, how the hell was he supposed to say no?

Harry bit his own tongue as Malfoy grabbed his hand tightly. They were holding hands. In the middle of the street. Surrounded by teachers and peers and wizards who knew _exactly _who the two of them were.

Not to mention that his stomach was twisting around uncertainly; his hands felt sweaty and clumsy. He could hear his heartbeat thumping around haphazardly in his chest. He needed to see Pomfrey about these symptoms, they were getting ridiculous.

But right now, all he could think about was the hand wrapped too tightly around his.

"…whenever you're ready, Potty." Malfoy remarked dryly; his nervousness was clear in his voice, cracking slightly. Whatever was going to happen, if it made Malfoy himself again, Harry was fine with it.

Harry spun around, focusing on the spot where Malfoy had pointed. The horrible feeling of being squeezed through a tube ten times too small made him nauseous. It was black, and cold; his eyes were being forced backwards into his sockets, his bones felt as though they were being crushed, his hand felt as if…shit.

_Pure panic _settled within Harry as his hand began to burn. It was itching; burning…but not being crushed like the rest of him. It was remaining exactly where it was, being yanked savagely off of his limb as he was pulled through space…

"ARGH!" Harry landed with a face full of snow, spluttering and trying to remember how to breathe. His arm was burning, nerves spitting at him cruelly as they spliced through his veins. He could hear gasping and angry voices, but didn't give a flying shit. Malfoy had just splinched him!

_On purpose! _

The arrogant bastard was going to be castrated in a minute, and not by Parkinson!

Harry didn't particularly want to open his eyes and stare at the stump of a hand, but knew he eventually had to. It was just as bad as he had suspected. His right hand was just…gone. There was only a stump left, which was bleeding quite heavily. The snow around him was already tainted red, the blood seeping into the purity of the snow.

He managed to sit up, cradling his arm to his chest. Glancing around wildly, his eyes spotted Malfoy standing exactly where he had left him. With his hand still clutched in his. Fucking _Slytherin_…he was going to be _dead_ when Harry got to-!

"Potty," His voice was trembling slightly, worried as all fuck in all probability. He held up _Harry's hand_, face pale and distraught. Then, he turned around and threw it.

Literally.

He pegged it down the street, watching with some morbid satisfaction as if landed halfway down the street.

_What the fuck!? _

Harry was ready to throttle the bastard; he was already struggling to his knees to _kill_ him! Sure, he didn't know much about splinching, but he knew you needed your _entire_ body if you were going to be put back together!

"Potty," Malfoy tried again, a failed attempt at a smile. People were running and shouting and creating havoc. Harry almost didn't hear him. "Now you're in two places at once."

Harry blinked.

He was kneeling past the Three Broomsticks.

His hand was at least two hundred metres down the road.

The bastard was right.

He couldn't help the painful laugh that escaped.

Malfoy sprinted to get the hand, almost cringing when he had to pick it up and come bolting back over. Someone had pushed Harry onto his back, trying to examine his stump of an arm. They were being yelled at, berated, and promised to be chained in the dungeon for eternity.

But even through this, Malfoy didn't leave Harry until his hand was properly reattached.

And Harry refused to let go of said annoying little git with his left hand.

"There are other ways to make a statement." Harry chuckled, wincing but still very much happy. Happier than he had been in weeks, actually.

Malfoy just looked mildly relieved that he wasn't going to die by Harry's hand later on that evening. Gryffindor indeed! That was one of the most Slytherin acts Harry had ever seen! He hiccupped a laugh again.

As it turned out, this was the best date ever.

.

.

.

_8. Be in two places at once_


	14. Exhausted

I do not own anything here, nor am I making a profit from this. It is purely to pass my time, and hopefully, interest other people. J.K. Rowling owns Harry Potter, not me.

Hello to all my beautiful reviewers!I am sorry this chapter is so late, I hated writing it. :) Thank you for all who reviews - here you go! A nice long one...(and I'm sorry already!) :) Enjoy!

**Chapter 14- Exhausted**

"_Stop smiling." _

Harry glanced away from Malfoy, struggling to restrain his grin. His hand was reattached; twinging, but moving the way it was supposed to. Malfoy hadn't left his side once after trying to rip him limb from limb, and he couldn't stop smiling. Harry was _ecstatic._

His list was being completed, step by step. And to make his day just that much better, now he had a blonde git from Slytherin, one which would have an entire plethora of twisted ideas, to assist him in crossing them off. His list was going to get done. Merlin, he could bloody _sing!_

He couldn't stop smiling, something McGonagall wasn't that pleased with. But then, she wouldn't understand.

"Mr Potter, this is _not _something you should be-"

"Honestly, professor," Harry never would have dreamed to interrupt her like that, but he was too lively to care at the moment. He almost laughed again at that; describing himself as 'lively'; how contradictory. "It was an accident. I thought we were apparating to the pub, Malfoy thought we were apparating to Zonko's. We got confused."

"Too much alcohol." Malfoy added, smirking as their headmistress turned her icy glare toward him instead. "Probably not the best idea."

"Probably not." She repeated, arms crossing dangerously. Harry thought it was ridiculous, actually. Accidents like this happened all the time, didn't it? Sure, their splinching was on purpose, but she wasn't to know that. And she definitely wasn't supposed to judge. "Tell me, Mister Malfoy, do you have your apparating licence?" Harry's grin dropped slightly as Malfoy nodded. God, she _knew_ that he didn't…

"And Mister Potter…do _you_ have _your_ apparating licence?" Harry didn't have to answer her; his embarrassed silence was enough. "So, let me get this straight. You two were trying to apparate within Hogsmead, under the influence of alcohol, with one of you without a licence?"

They nodded sullenly, knowing they couldn't worm their way from this one. Harry didn't think she would calculate all that from the limited sentences they had provided her with; of course, the universe loathed him. "I'm astonished at the sheer level of idiocy you two continue to share." She continued, shaking her head at them both. "Fifty points. Each."

Harry watched her leave without a sense of guilt; what was the point of worrying over house points? If you weren't technically a part of a house, you couldn't really worry over the loss of points, now could you? And did an 'accident' really merit the loss of points? Battling the troll in first year had cost him less, and that was an incident he had ensured.

He glanced at the quiet blonde next to his hospital bed, grinning as he met uneasy grey eyes. The git was still nervous Harry was about to murder him. Not likely, after a date like that.

"So…I thought you said I wasn't allowed to risk myself?" Harry asked casually, sliding from the bed and slipping his jumper back on. He was grateful the movement hid his face, sure that it would be red again. They hadn't mentioned their fight, a rule both were more than willing to comply with. Harry wasn't sure if he was crossing some line here, and if he was, he didn't want to see the friendly Malfoy hide back behind his mask. It was unbearable, the way Malfoy decidedly hid. It shouldn't hurt the way it always did.

"I don't recall." Malfoy replied equally as neutral. "But if I _did_ imply something of the sort, it would be directed towards your iconic selfdestruct mode that seems to be your default setting. If I'm out there mutilating you, at least I know you won't be killing yourself in some pathetic attempt to build the ultimate snowman."

"It's dangerous to build a snowman?" Harry asked dryly, raising his eyebrows as Malfoy just smirked back.

"Knowing you, you would impale yourself on a twig."

"Touching, that you think you know me."

"I know more than you think."

Bloody git.

Harry grinned as Malfoy couldn't resist rising his chin up, superior as always. He didn't seem the least bit nervous now…perhaps Harry should have snapped at him instead? Joking around always inflated his egotistical head. Not good when the boy considered himself something of a god.

Harry climbed into bed later that evening, grin still on his face. After leaving the hospital wing they had drifted back to the library, playing a crude game Malfoy and his Slytherin cronies had created which involved book titles, a three second time limit, and Malfoy's _very _imaginative (disturbing!) mind. Harry hadn't laughed that much in months. He couldn't stop smiling; his cheeks were sore.

"Good date, Harry?" Neville asked, dimming the light as he padded to his own bed.

Good? That didn't quite capture it.

.

.

.

"Harry, Malfoy's watching you again." Neville informed him helpfully, looking all too amused at the current situation. They were in the library at the moment; Neville was procrastinating on completing the almost impossible transfiguration homework, and Harry was trying his hand at different languages again. Almost as impossible as ignoring the blonde git that was sitting three tables away, who refused to divert his attention elsewhere.

He had been watching since Harry entered the hall, mouth smirking as Harry rolled his eyes. The amusement had quickly transformed to affront as Harry decided to sit with his friend instead of venturing over to the Slytherin table. Seriously what did he want Harry to do? Send Neville on his way just because Malfoy _looked_ at him?

By Malfoy's rapt and almost irritating glare, yes, yes he did.

"Harry, he's still watching."

"So I've been told." Harry replied dryly, refusing to look up from his book. How was he supposed to concentrate when he had the idiot sitting just across from him? Bloody hell, it was as if he were drilling into his skull. If looks could kill, Neville would be massacred by now. And it didn't help in the slightest that Harry's stomach was acting up again, tight and twisting; why did he feel this sick every time Malfoy glared? Hopefully he was allergic to the blonde. The thought made him smile.

"He's smirking now. It's odd…I don't think I've ever seen Malfoy happy."

"Neville, I don't need to know what he's doing every three seconds."

"It's creepy; looks as if he's about to steal ice-cream from children."

Harry grinned at that, flicking his eyes up to meet the very vivid grey immediately. Nope, bad idea. His stomach twisted almost painfully as the eyes blinked, forcing his head down again.

"I'm not looking at him, so quit it. My stomach's acting up as it is." He could practically _feel _Malfoy gloating across the room.

Neville grinned at that, a mischievous glint that Harry didn't want to meet creeping into his eyes. "You still get butterflies? Harry, Harry, Harry. You should be comfortable with him by now, given how many dates you guys seem to-"

"Oi, hold on!" Harry blinked at that, panic rising through his chest. What the hell? He didn't get _butterflies _over _Malfoy_…they weren't even dating! They went on a _singular _date, as _friends!_ That's it! "Butterflies? Who the hell said anything about butterflies? I'm not some girl that swoons over him!"

"Hey, does this say _Mrs Harry Malfoy _on your binder?" Neville laughed as Harry whacked his arm, retreating back to his side of the table and dropping the book. But the glint hadn't left his eyes yet; Harry wasn't in the clear yet. "Your stomach feels upset? Uncomfortable?" Harry nodded slowly not at all liking the grin that stretched over his friend's face. "Palms sweaty? Feel awkward?" Harry didn't need to nod for that one.

"Heart racing-"

"No!"

"Liar." Why was a he friend with Neville again? And when the hell had he gotten so confident?

But Harry _didn't _have butterflies! His didn't have a crush on Malfoy, no way in bloody hell. They were friends; that's it! These were just symptoms of his illness; Neville almost had him there. Almost. Stupid Neville and his stupid ideas.

"How far are you in your homework?" Harry asked before Neville could say anymore, smirking as he groaned and hit his head on the table.

"That's low Harry…low."

Harry stared at the polish word he had scribbled down, not having any inclination to read it and not knowing how to pronounce it. It just wasn't sinking in today…difficult enough, with Neville making wild accusations and Malfoy drilling a whole through Harry's head with willpower alone.

Harry _didn't _have butterflies. First of all, he wasn't interested in a relationship with a guy. Secondly, he wasn't interested in a relationship full stop right now. Never again. He couldn't do that to someone, and then leave them in a few months. It wasn't right, not in the slightest.

Malfoy was still staring at him. He was probably still waiting for Harry to kick Neville out. Actually, there was no 'probably' to be associated with Malfoy; he either wanted something or he didn't, and when he wanted something, it was given on a bloody golden platter. Well, not this time.

Harry glanced up quickly, blinking as he met Malfoy's steady gaze.

Fuck.

Butterflies.

.

.

.

Harry jerked to his feet, horrified. No. _No._ He couldn't have a fucking crush, and not on the pompous git of a Slytherin that he loved to hate. It _wasn't _happening.

Swallowing tightly, he threw Neville some feeble excuse to use the bathroom and basically ran from the room. Cowardly? Yes. Did he give a flying fuck? Not a chance.

Harry hurtled into the room, running a hand through his hair anxiously. No. Just…_no._

Why him?

His body had already betrayed him enough that year, but to react to _Malfoy? _This was just the clincher of a perfect year, wasn't it? Let's toy with him through magic, mind and body…and now his dick as well!

Harry cursed, throwing a filthy glare at his reflection, as if it was its fault. He _liked_ spending time with Malfoy. Fuck, it was _fun_. He didn't want that to stop all because his body thought it would be fun to ruthlessly swindle him…_again_. Butterflies? _Seriously? _Why not throw in a blush every time the git from hell said anything…oh god. He _had_ been lately… _Merlin_, did the Universe loathe him that much?

Did _he_ really not see the signs? Was he _really this naive? _Harry pinched his nose, trying to breathe normally. Hopefully Malfoy was just as unperceptive as Harry had been. He could probably ignore it, as he had been…as long as Neville didn't bring it up again. If it was ignored, it didn't exist…right?

"If you send the Gryffindork away, we'll be able to talk, Potty." Oh, for fu-! "He shouldn't have that much of interest to say, surely. You're probably into the third telling of his favourite nursery rhyme by now."

"Go away, Malfoy."

"Tch, turned back into Gryffindor's Golden Boy?" Harry spun around as the door began to swing open, slashing his wand towards it. It locked with a nice little 'click', leaving Harry slightly smug as a thump heard from the other side. Harry was guessing Malfoy had just walked into the door. "Ow! Oi, Scarhead-"

"_Just go away for ten minutes." _Was it really that much to ask? That he could go to the bathroom to think in relative silence after been assaulted with a realisation that was better off forgotten? He needed to think and sort out his head; such as, when had he started to get fucking _butterflies_ from Malfoy and not from Ginny? It was absurd!

"Open the door, Potter, so I can curse you to oblivion and back." Harry opted to ignore him, despite how his stomach twisted again. Fucking stomach; could it just _stop_ betraying him? Was a single day too much? "_Potter, open the door." _

Harry opened his mouth to speak, but it caught in his throat. Instead, he frowned as something wet dribbled into his eye. Rubbing it off, his stomach sunk as he glared at the red that smeared over his hand. What the fuck?!

He stumbled around, glancing at the mirror in horror.

Blood was dripping across his forehead and running down his nose. A nose which cracked viciously, shattering. Harry gasped, gingerly raising his hand to cradle his broken snout…to freeze with it hovering uncertainly between the sink and his wound.

'I must not tell lies', etched onto his hand, had been filled with blood, slowly seeping across his hand and weeping onto the tiles. He watched horrified as his recently healed hand tore and fell to the floor with a soft thump. Bruises began blossoming across his face and arms, deepening to a rich and terrifying purple.

His past wounds reopened.

Fuck.

Harry swallowed tightly, ignoring the pain that blossomed and numbed over his body. The numbing couldn't possibly be a good thing; his body was shutting down. Shit. _Shit. _

He turned to the door. Malfoy. He had to get to Malfoy. He was the only one here; he was the only one that could-

His legs gave out, sending him crashing to the floor heavily.

Lying on his face uncomfortably, it was an effort to roll onto his back. Blood smeared across the tiles, jerking his stomach again. He felt sick…understatement of the century. He felt _nauseated_…it was pretty clear that he was sick.

Fuck. What the hell was he supposed to do? He opened his mouth to speak but could only make a weak gasping; he couldn't speak if he wanted to…and _fuck_ _did he want to! _He wanted to scream, to let _anyone _know that he was dying pathetically on the floor; alone…he didn't want to die in a bathroom! Myrtle had, and look how fucked up she turned out to be!

A lump formed in his throat, and he couldn't swallow it no matter how he tried. It felt as though he was choking.

A gasp echoed through the bathroom, stilling Harry immediately.

A gasp? Who was there? Oh, _please_, _mary mother of fuck please let it be-_!

Relief filled him as a silvery ghost hovered into his view. Thank god, Myrtle would get help for him. Through the door. Just float through the door. Everything was going to be fine, now. She would sound the alarm.

…

Why wasn't she sounding the alarm?

Harry could only lie there helplessly as the ghost drifted above him, head cocked to one side. She was biting her lip, glancing towards the door and the bleeding Harry as if torn. And it clicked.

Harry had promised her to keep her company if he died.

She was waiting.

Harry lay there weakly; he was gradually tiring. Exhaustion was sweeping over him, lulling him into false security to shut his eyes. He dimly knew that if he went to sleep he wouldn't wake up again, but it was an impossible battle. His eyes were steadily closing…

All Harry could do was plead with Myrtle with his gaze, and hope that she had the ability to read his mind. It was a desperate thought; only Malfoy had been able to do that.

A tear glistened down his cheek.

And Myrtle screamed.

.

.

.

Draco flicked his eyes from the pacing professors back to the unconscious Potter, throat constricting. He couldn't remember a time when he had been this exhausted, this…vulnerable. And he wasn't even the one healing on the bed.

Fuck, Potter had almost died. They didn't know if it was accidental or on purpose, but Draco was almost pleading for it to be the former. Potter wouldn't kill himself; it wasn't in him. No matter how upset or desperate he became, he would never resort to _that_. He was a Gryffindor, and it was such a Slytherin way to die. Potter was the least Slytherin, possibly, to exist. It wouldn't happen.

Or so he told himself.

Myrtle's scream had alerted the entire castle, forest, and even the giant squid to Potter's demise. People were running everywhere, half terrified half curious. There were rumours someone had been murdered, rumours someone had just pissed off the ghost; only a few knew the truth, and even in those only a few understood the reality. Draco was one of the fortunate's that understood _everything. _

Potter must have used magic, the absolute _imbecile_, and it had reacted. Draco was seeing firsthand how _cruel _the brunette's magic was becoming, and it was repulsive. Potter was _covered _with blood and bruises; it looked like a tortured Death-Eater victim. Draco had seen far too many of those, and it wasn't an experience he had wished to repeat. Nevertheless, he had, and vomited on the spot. Potter looked _dead. _He was a corpse, and between the frantic adrenaline in Draco's body and the petrified screams of the ghost, nothing was getting done to revive him.

Draco cursed to himself, swallowing again as he glanced at the bruised face next to him. He had panicked. He was frozen, and in all possibilities would have _watched_ as Potter had died. It was sickening.

Thank Merlin…Argh, Draco couldn't even _think_ it without cringing…._thank fucking Merlin for Longbottom. _He had heard the screams, and come running to the bathroom wand in hand. He only had to glance at Potter before spinning and bellowing a curse at Draco. Which wasn't fair, to say the least. There was no courtesy in the way Longbottom cursed, no etiquette. Only a sneer and a flash of his wand, and Draco was unconscious. He was going to deny that, however, until his deathbed. _Longbottom _couldn't _dream _to Match Draco in a proper duel. He wouldn't be able to _imagine _it.

And to say Draco was pissed for the accusations when he awoke would be an understatement. He was _furious_; as soon as Potter was alive and awake, Draco was going to hunt down that overgrown idiot of a Gryffindork, and _murder him. _

Draco glanced at the weary McGonagall again, watching her wipe her eyes and continue to whisper in rushed tones to the matron. They were deciding what to do with Potter when he awoke; the diagnostic was tonight, unfortunately, and they needed him to be healthy enough to complete it.

Draco growled under his breath at that; it was utter idiocy, forcing Potter to undergo that after he had been sliced apart mere hours ago. But he had voiced his opinion quite clearly, and had been told that if he spoke to the headmistress that way again he would be suspended. And tempting though it may be to throw in a muttered cuss just loud enough for her to hear, he couldn't get suspended just yet. How was his Potty going to complete his list if he wasn't here to help him?

Draco turned back to Potter, wincing as he stared at the bruises. There were fingerprints around his throat, as though he had been strangled…who would _strangle _Potter? The amount of bruising seemed like a tad too much for an average person, even accumulating each bruise over a lifetime. And yet, Draco couldn't look away.

He reached up hesitantly, matching his fingertips with those on Potter's neck, wincing as he indeed concurred that it was developed by strangulation. How utterly vulgar-

Green eyes were staring at him.

Shit. Draco blinked back, relief filling him. At least Potter was awake; if he was awake, he was healing properly. If he had remained unconscious, the damage may have been too complicated to fix. Thank Merlin.

But now he had the issue of being caught with a hand curled around Potter's throat, and no possible explanation that would be reasonable. So Draco opted to ignore it, throwing his mask back into place. He was protected behind his mask.

"You should have just opened the door." He said quietly, relieved when a flicker of something other than hurt resounded through the emeralds. "I wasn't literally going to curse you."

"I tried." Potter's voice was weak, thin. And it only seemed to irritate him more when he tried to swallow and found a lump in his throat instead. "I fell."

Draco snorted. He sounded like a battered wife, with the iconic lie no one would believe. "Into a doorhandle?" He asked dryly, glancing at the still whispering professors. "You better create a better story when the Spanish inquisition arrives; they're not particularly happy. They don't want you to return home next week."

Potter rolled his eyes at that, glancing at his hands and wincing at the bruises that littered him. They had healed the most dangerous cuts, but had wanted to wait for Potter to wake before attempting the bruises. Too much healing whilst unconscious would trick the brain into thinking it was still hurt, and thus create fictional ailments rather than heal.

"Try." He muttered, sighing as he glanced towards the bickering teachers. They didn't seem close to letting up just yet, throwing pointed gestures towards where Potter lay in the bed. If one of them had the inclination to glance at the boy they were arguing about, however…

Potter's eyes narrowed a bit as they glanced away from their professors. Draco felt him swallow under his hand, nervous. What was he to be nervous about? There were no eavesdropping students in the room. In fact, the only other entity was Moaning Myrtle, who hadn't said a thing since alerting the castle. She just watched sullenly, hiccupping a few times before going silent. It wasn't questioned; she was always an odd one.

"She's quite besotted with you." Draco remarked, turning away from the ghost back to the tired Potter. "Hasn't stopped watching you since we've arrived."

If anything, Potter seemed wary. "I bet." He whispered, forcing his eyes away. To wince.

Draco winced too.

Pomfrey and McGonnagall were pointedly watching the both of them. Or, more precisely, they were watching Potter.

Draco became acutely aware his hand was still around Potter's throat. He snapped it back quickly, breaking the spell on the professors. He wished he didn't.

"_What. Happened?" _McGonagall demanded, hurrying over. She was a bloody dragon woman; Draco could practically see the smoke drifting from her nostrils.

"Are you alright, Mister Potter? Do you feel nauseous? Dizzy?" Draco swung his head towards Pomfrey, surprised at the amount of concern in her voice. It seemed she had finally decided to play Healer properly.

"_I need to know what happened. _Why did you use magic in such a secluded place?"

"I need to treat my patient!"

"I need to know the truth!"

Draco flicked his gaze back towards Potter, a weird mixture of pity and irritation twisting through his stomach. He was glancing at the both of them with trepidation across his face…his incredibly bruised face. It was clear this was the last place on earth he would rather be; stuck between two bitchy rocks. Their eyes met, and Draco couldn't look away.

Those bloody eyes…they were just so _green_. Normally so bright and vibrant, now they were dull and hopeless. They were fucking pleading for him to help…but what the hell could _he_ do? If he tried to open his mouth, both Professors would throw him from the room faster than he could say 'quidditch'.

"Mister Potter…I need to know why you were doing magic, in a secluded part of the castle, alone. This is to help you, not to cause more distress." She added as an afterthought. Cow.

Draco watched as Pomfrey shuffled forwards angrily, jabbing her wand and slowly healing the more predominant bruises around Potter's body. He didn't show any inclination of being healed, however. He still seemed to be ignoring the professors and now Draco too, the way he tore his eyes away and stared at the ceiling. If anything he looked sicker, as though he didn't want to remember.

If only Draco had gotten into the bathroom earlier.

"_Mister Potter. _I am not requesting."

They all waited with bated breath. Draco knew exactly when he was about to crack. He stuck his chin out stubbornly, muttering under his breath. "…It was an accident." He said quietly, blatantly not looking at anyone. Pathetic effort, really; no one believed it for a second.

"And _what,_ exactly, where you doing-?"

"…I was…" He faltered here, red blossoming between the mixtures of blue and black on his cheeks. It would have been quite interesting, if Draco hadn't been on his toes waiting for the answer. "…it doesn't matter…it was an accident…I just…didn't think not to use my wand…I didn't even realised I had done it…" He snapped his mouth shut there, finally glancing away from the ceiling. Towards the door. It was as if he was waiting for his chance to escape.

"…do you realise how dangerous it-"

"_Yes_." Draco was proud of the way Potter managed to glare; it was as if he had taken notes.

The four of them stood quietly for a few minutes; each one was trying to quell their own anger before the snapping began. Draco wasn't so sure he wanted his resentment to diminish; he was quite overconfident in the smart remarks he could summon at will when he was aggravated. That, and the fact he had been saving some comments for Pomfrey that he wasn't sure he could retain for much longer.

"Mister Malfoy, please follow me."

Well, he wasn't expecting that.

Draco sighed inwardly as he was forced to follow the stern headmistress into the Matrons office, away from Potter and ghostly ears. Whatever she had to say couldn't be good, if she had decreed hiding in an office was the way to go. Did she think he would be intimidated if she sat behind a large desk and looked over her glasses at him? She was about to be sorely mistaken.

"I would offer you a biscuit, but it seems Madam Pomfrey has none." Why mention it then? "…Mister Malfoy, how do you feel about all of…this?"

Draco blinked. So this was how she was going to play? Fine.

He kept his hands relaxed on his chair's arms, his posture straight and his mask firmly in place. She would _not_ be manipulating his emotions today; she wouldn't find any.

"What does 'this' entitle?" He questioned back, keeping his face calm. He wasn't about to make this easy for her.

And neither was she, apparently. "Mister Potter, of course. How are you feeling about his…latest debacle?"

"You're implying it was intentional."

"Wasn't it?"

Draco glared at his headmistress, his dislike growing by the minute. She had _no right _to demand this of him…one wrong answer and Potter was likely to be thrown off to Mungo's again. And Draco couldn't allow that; he knew of Potter's immense resentment of the uniforms there.

"No." He said clearly. Keep the mask on. Keep it calm. "Potter isn't one to do that."

"Isn't he?" The rhetorical questions were starting to grate on Draco's nerves. "You two are close." It wasn't a question, and so Draco didn't intend to answer. The bitch could gather as little as she needed. "You know about his condition. You are the only pupil that he has informed. Why do you think that is?"

Draco blinked again. For all she knew, they were dating. She had _no right _to ask this of him. It was none of her business. "I can only speculate." He replied dryly, hands tightening on his armchair. No. Stay calm. Face clear. Curse her into oblivion later.

"You do understand about his condition, don't you?" She threw on a pitying expression, almost pained. As if she had the authority to wear that, in accordance to Potter. "You do understand that it hasn't been cured?"

"I understand completely."

"Then, I'm sure you understand why it isn't fair for you and Harry to be dating. It's not fair for Harry to be strung along, and it definitely isn't appropriate nor fair for you-"

"I believe we can make that decision for our selves, thank you." Draco snapped angrily, furious at himself more so than her. Damn it, he wasn't supposed to _break_ the fucking mask! "I have no intention of 'stringing him along', and I'm not under the impression he resents my company. Therefore, we will continue our relationship unhindered by interfering imbeciles."

"Mister Malfoy." He snapped his mouth shut, eyes throwing daggers at his professor. She could rot in wizarding hell for all he cared! "He will be dead in a few months. Have you considered the loss, if you become close? Have you considered the hurt?"

Draco was just opening his mouth to throw a fairly good insult her way, consequences be damned…when it hit him. That was what Potter was doing.

The _bastard_.

Of course he kept Gryffindor at an arm's length, and made no attempt at reconciliation. He knew he hadn't a fair chance of survival...and even _now_, was trying to protect those utter morons the pain of losing him. He had been wary of letting Draco in, because this thought was always playing with the back of his mind. How _wouldn't _it? Everyone feared mortality.

Loneliness was the only reason he had let in Draco…and given that, in a few months, it was fair to say that he would try to push Draco away again. Did he _always_ have to be so bloody self-sacrificing? Draco was going to head out there, and throttle him.

"I see that you're considering my words. Good. You need to take into consideration-"

"If he only has a few months, Professor," Draco said quietly, cutting her off effectively. "Then I had better ensure I'm there every minute. Excuse me."

He used Pomfrey's abrupt entrance into her office to leave, escaping back into the Hospital Wing.

…

Potter was gone.

.

.

.

Draco paced the halls, barely noticing as the portraits avoided his furious glare. It was one in the morning. One fucking o'clock! Sure, he didn't sleep much anymore. But even he had his limitations; listening to Pomfrey moan on and on and fucking _on_ about how _worried_ she was about Potter was reaching his suicidal point, however.

Where the hell was Potter?

He had his diagnosis tonight; surely he wouldn't have forgotten? You would think he would be counting down the days of relative freedom. No, he hadn't forgotten. He was in hiding.

And there was only one place he would be that Draco wouldn't be able to find him.

The blonde stormed up to the sleeping portrait, knocking on it angrily to wake it up. God, was she fat. Why would anyone that big even allow their portrait to be taken? It was ludicrous. Some form of masochistic behaviour.

"Let me in." He demanded, frowning as the painting had the audacity to laugh at him. A woman who couldn't even fit through a door sideways was laughing at _him_?

"You are not of my house, Mister Malfoy. I will not allow you entry; you're not about to cause incidents with my students tonight."

"_Please_ let me in. It's urgent." Ugh. How degrading; pleading with an ugly picture.

"Not a chance."

"Can you go and _get_ one of your students, then?" He growled, scowling as the picture just smiled back. He was going to buy it, and torch it, as soon as he graduated.

"I would, if I believed you. As it is, I'm not inclined to do so."

"And how can I change how 'inclined' you are?"

"_You_ can't."

Draco kicked the painting, ignoring the shriek of anger and the throbbing toe that followed it. "Let!" Kick. "Me!" Kick. "Fucking!" Kick. "IN!"

With the racket they were making, a professor would probably be notified soon. Draco only needed to forfeit his toes to do it; a fair bargain.

As it was, however, he didn't need to wait that long. The portrait was pushed open slightly, a disgruntled and rather confused looking Longbottom poking his ugly head out of the darkness. It would have to do.

He managed to step forwards angrily and shove Malfoy backwards, stepping into the small gap before the portrait managed to swing shut herself. The momentary advantage was forgotten as Longbottom managed to grab Draco by his collar. He wore a glower and a certain degree of loathing. Not exactly warranted, and definitely not appreciated.

"Get out before I curse you." He warned, reaching to shove the painting open again but Draco grabbed at his hand, wincing at the action himself. Merlin help him…he was actually touching Longbottom. He hoped it wasn't contagious.

"I need Potter."

"You think I'm going to help you, after what you did to him-!"

Draco needed to refrain himself from slamming his head against the wall. "_That wasn't me._"

"Bullshit."

"I don't want nor care if you believe me." Draco snapped again, forcing his eyes to glare at Longbottom instead of the enticing wall. "But I need to see Potter. Now. Before I end up breaking your very unattractive nose. Because he needs me, and you are not going to stop me from reaching him."

True, threatening was probably not the best course of action. Draco didn't think it would work, actually. He was planning to rile up the idiot and curse him, but for whatever reason, Longbottom believed him.

He stared in silence for a little bit, regarding Draco as though he had never seen him before. Then, remarkably…he nodded.

_What the fuck? _

"…just…keep quiet. You're in enemy territory." Tch. He didn't need to tell Draco twice.

Slowly they climbed into the common room, Draco trailing after Longbottom. It was unnerving, having to trust such an idiot as Longbottom…

Red.

Holy shit, the entire room was a bright _red…_

Who the hell could live like this?

Draco felt his mouth drop open in disgust, glancing around the room with a look akin to horror. It was _repulsive! _There was absolutely no redeeming factor in the entire room; each thing was as hideous as others! Were the Gryffindorks _blind? _

Feeling Longbottom staring at him, Draco forced his mouth shut and continued to follow him. There were no words to describe the repugnant nature of the room. Nothing was adequate enough. And if he could sleep, Draco was certain he would be having nightmares.

Draco followed him up the stairs, swallowing a tad nervously. Behind these doors was a horde of Gryffindors that detested him, and would be furious if they discovered him in here. They seemed oddly territorial about this sort of thing, something that kept the mischievous tendency of Draco's to stay hidden. He didn't particularly want to face them in the dark, in their own territory.

As they entered the room Draco was again hit with an onslaught of red. Dimmed, in the darkness, but its intense ugliness could be detected as he past it by.

He headed straight to Potter's bed; it was the only one with the covers shut.

He ripped the curtains open, about to snap at the brunette in harsh whispers…and froze. The words died on his tongue.

Potter was lying in bed, eyes open…just staring at the clock opposite him. He blinked as the minutes ticket by, but other than that he didn't move. Most of the bruises on his face was gone…thank god. He had rings under his eyes, but still didn't sleep. Something was wrong.

"…you're late, Potter." Malfoy whispered, ignoring the other boys sleeping in the room. If one of them woke up… "P…_She_ was pacing around, giving me her entire life story. Nice, of you to leave me to perish with _that_."

Potter merely flicked his eyes towards Draco. He sighed heavily, shrugging as if he didn't care. He probably didn't. But it was odd of him not to respond.

"Come on, she's worried-"

"No…she's not." Draco blinked at Potter's soft voice; he sounded _exhausted_. Not just physically, but mentally. Not good.

"…What's the matter with you?"

"…nothing…"

Draco stared at Potter, willing his eyes to drill into him. It worked, for his shifted slightly before blinking up slowly, tiredly. He wasn't going to just brush this one off. Not this time. "…Come on, Potter. You have to get up."

Potter shook his head slightly, barely moving it. "It's…too hard…" He whispered, then shook his head again. "I don't…want to do it anymore."

Draco froze. "Do what?"

"Any of it…I'm just…I'm tired. No more." Fuck. No.

_He wasn't giving up now. _

Loathing himself a small bit, Draco reached forwards and ignored Harry. He pulled the blankets off of him, and helped him sit up. Even that seemed to drain him, as he struggled not to fall back down into bed again. "You know that's not an option."

Potter just stared at him weakly, eyes wide and face impossibly pale. He shook his head again, as if it was the only thing he had the energy to do. He was just _drained. _

"_Please_…just…don't make me."

His heart lodged in his throat. "I'll be there. I haven't left one yet, have I? Come on, I'll be there. Don't give up yet."

Draco pulled Potter…Harry to his feet, snatching at the jumped he had worn the other day and letting him push into it. It was fucking freezing, there was no way Potter was going in his pyjama's alone.

Fuck, this was hard.

Draco ran a hand through his hair, glimpsing Longbottom by the door. Something easy.

"If I hear a fucking rumour that even _hints_ of this, you'll regret it so that you'll be _begging_ to join your parents in the asylum." He sneered, grabbing Pot…Harry by his wrist and pulling him out with him.

It was the longest trip to the hospital wing Draco had been to. Potter stumbled every few steps, kept sighing and muttering to himself. Neither boy wanted to pull open the hospital wing door.

Pomfrey wasted no time connecting the needles, and going through the procedure again. Both boys sat there quietly.

Until the restraints were fastened.

_"_Just…don't tie them up today." He pleaded, voice catching as a tear slipped out. "_Please_, just leave it….I can't…_handle_ it…"

"…That's not an option, Mister Potter."

"Can you do what he asks for _once?"_

"Another word from _you_ and _you'll leave_."

The machines were turned on.

Potter had never been so vulnerable.

He didn't seem capable of stopping the tears that brimmed over his eyes. Or the winces and cringes he usually tried so hard to cover. He was exhausted, and there was nothing Draco could do to help.

When the invading potion reached Potter's chest, he screamed.

Nothing could have prepared Draco for that. Instead of the pain laced shriek that usually accompanied the torture, it was an agonising screech of fear. Pure terror echoed around the room; from a boy that could look Voldemort straight in the eye and smile.

And it broke Draco.

Potter thrashed on the bed, struggling to be free of the restraints, crying aloud. Draco could do nothing but sit by helplessly, ripping his hair out by the root. _Something _had to be done…

Potter couldn't continue like this.

Fuck, Draco couldn't.

The blonde jerked to his feet, slashing his wand through the air. The restraints broke on Potter's wrists immediately; he didn't notice. He was gasping for breath, cringing and hopelessly trying to will the tears away.

So Draco did the only thing he could.

He climbed onto the bed, and grabbed a hold of Potter.

It was the most awkward hug he had ever experienced.

Draco wasn't accustomed to hugs, and was unsure how they would actually help. Potter was stiff with unease, clearly not liking being touched.

But slowly he shifted.

His hands curled into Draco's shirt.

His face pressed into Draco's chest.

And he held on for dear life.

They clung to each other, and cried.

.

.

.


	15. Vanilla

I do not own anything here, nor am I making a profit from this. It is purely to pass my time, and hopefully, interest other people. J.K. Rowling owns Harry Potter, not me.

For all of my very supportive reviewers...THANK YOU! I tried to make this one not so sad :) I didn't like it, but I needed to put it in for the story to develop later. Enjoy!

**Chapter Fifteen– Vanilla **

Harry woke to the overwhelming scent of vanilla.

He was in the stage where he knew he was awake, but simply couldn't summon the effort to want to open his eyes. He was warm, relaxed, and didn't want that to change anytime soon. Merlin, he couldn't remember the last time he had slept through the night.

Harry sighed, shifting so he was closer to the warmth. Instead of the aching that usually accompanied his mornings, instead of the exhaustion and nausea, he felt _rested_. And that thought alone made him want to grin like an idiot.

He couldn't even remember the diagnostic last night…

…

Oh god.

Harry sighed to himself, running through his memories of the previous night. Well, that was that. He would have to kill himself now, rather than face Malfoy. Shit. He had had to break into Gryffindor tower to get him, and practically drag him to the diagnostic, when he had absolutely no obligation to. They weren't even great friends; why the hell would Malfoy do all _that_…for him? He wasn't worth any of this effort. Hell, he wouldn't even be here in a few months. Why did it matter to Malfoy whether Harry was getting his diagnostic on time or not?

His chest hurt thinking about it. Last night was going to be another memory discarded; Ignored.

…

Except for the fact Malfoy had somehow broken into Gryffindor Tower! Now _that_ was making Harry irritatingly awestruck. The blonde git didn't have an invisibility cloak, he didn't have a magical map, he wasn't even supposed to _know_ where the common room was…and yet, he had successfully snuck in, and out, with a hostage, with no one the wiser. He deserved a salutation, if anything.

Harry shifted again, yawning as he stretched his toes. His entire body was relaxed, warm, and just _fresh. _He didn't want to get up yet, it was too-

Something shifted next to him.

Oh.

_God. _

_No. _

Swallowing tightly, Harry slowly opened his eyes.

Well, that would explain why it was so warm.

And also explain why he was about to hurl himself from the tower.

He was lying in his usual hospital bed, snuggled into the blankets. Nothing new. Absolutely nothing.

Oh, except for the small fact Draco fucking Malfoy was an entire two inches away, with Harry's face pressed up against his throat!

Harry's breath caught, stilling him mid stretch. Bloody hell…would Malfoy wake up if Harry crept from the bed? _Was_ he awake? Was he as utterly _mortified _as Harry was?

His stomach clenched almost painfully, those _fucking butterflies_ twirling around again. Harry vowed to capture them, and burn their bloody wings off if they didn't _cease to exist_. What else could the Universe throw at him? _Seriously? _

Harry flinched as Malfoy mumbled under his breath, shifting slightly to bury his head further into the pillows. This was the most terrifying thing Harry had been subjected to since facing off with the basilisk. And, similarly, if he moved he would notify the snake of his presence. And risk getting bitten. This really wasn't a win-win scenario. If he moved, he Malfoy would wake up. Which was better? Awaking the blonde Slytherin, or simply waiting until he woke up first and made the discovery that he was cuddling Harry Potter in bed?

Harry thought that was a much better choice; if Malfoy 'woke' before Harry, it would be _him_ face with the humiliation and, even better, the decision of what to do about it. Harry could claim ignorance, as usual.

Harry shivered as Malfoy's breath drifted through his hair; he had never been this close to someone. It was unnerving…bloody brilliant, but unnerving.

The butterflies twisted again as Malfoy shifted, tightening his arm on Harry's shoulder. Who knew? Malfoy was a closest cuddler.

Well…the butterflies weren't to be ignored.

Harry hadn't felt this content in a long time. It couldn't possibly be a bad thing to feel like this.

Resigning himself to a long sleep in, and smiling at that prospect, Harry shifted closer to the warmth, inhaling the sweet scent of vanilla. Malfoy could be the blustering, embarrassed one in the morning. He couldn't really give an effort to care, at the moment.

…

Above him, Draco smirked.

.

.

.

Harry scrunched his eyes shut, attempting to look indifferent in his sleep. It was a difficult task, given that a boy hardly his friend was awake next to him, in bed in a public area, with a disgruntled nurse tapping her foot a few feet away. Oh, Harry didn't envy Malfoy right now. He wished he could manage to open an eye so it would seem natural, whilst asleep, so he could spy on the blonde.

Merlin, if only one could laugh while 'asleep'.

"Nice of you to finally awake, Mister Malfoy. Now, if you would disentangle yourself from Mister Potter, so I can remove the needle?"

Harry had to bite his cheeks to keep from laughing. Hell, he would bite off his tongue at the moment. Pomfrey did _not_ sound happy. Poor Malfoy.

…

Ha!

No, there was no pity to give. This was just too funny.

"...Mister Malfoy, I am steadily losing my tact. Get out of Mister Potter's bed!"

"_I'm trying to_…he's on my arm!"

Harry was _certain _they both stilled  
and listened as a small burst of laughter escaped his clenched teeth, and threw more desperately needed acting skills to the test to seem asleep and relaxed, and defiantly _not _about to fall about on the floor in hysterics.

His mirth fled instantly.

Soft hands were gently inching him to the side, the trapped one rubbing his back to calm the nerves that flared up as soon as he was moved. Harry had to fight the need to swallow hard. Why would Malfoy be that gentle to someone he didn't like? It didn't make sense.

And then cold hands were on his arms, removing the needles. Though she was a trained professional, and Harry had no doubt on her expertise, it felt as though she was a novice, jerking at the needles. Everything would, after those tender hands had made themselves known.

"What were you thinking, removing his restraints?" Pomfrey hissed at the blonde, with quite a resemblance to Aunt Petunia. Harry almost jumped up to cook the bacon, nostalgic of his past. Well, wary in any case.

"Harry's not that into bondage, as it turns out." Came the drawl from Harry's immediate left. "Quite a shame, really. Well, we have a lifetime to figure out the turn ons and offs in our relationship; instead of leather straps I'm considering fluffy pink handcuffs; much easier on the wrist."

"This is not something I consider funny-"

"Nor I." Malfoy snapped back. His tone was not impressed; the first years would be running by now. "In fact, this is the least _funny_ thing I have ever witnessed, or discussed." The third years would join the escaping horde. "He was _broken_, last night. As a Healer, you should have done _something_. _Anything_. Instead, you hid in your office, and flooded yourself with drink. Scotch, if I'm correct."

"_Do not address me like that, Mister Malfoy._"

"However," He spoke as if she hadn't. "We're not speaking about that, are we? We were talking about bondage." And suddenly, Harry wished he had woken when he had the chance. _This_ was humiliating. "Harry doesn't like it. Therefore, are the restraints absolutely necessary?"

"I am a professor, you are a student. If you speak to me like that again you will find yourself in detention for the rest of the term. Do I make myself clear?"

"Transparent. Now, are the restrains absolutely necessary?"

"I am not discussing this with you. You are a fellow student, and not privy to-"

"I am his fiancé. I _am_ privy to _anything_ that concerns him. It's not you he bitches to at the end of the night."

Harry frowned at that, wanting nothing more than to jump up and contradict Malfoy. Seriously? He was pulling the fucking fiancé card again? They _weren't even dating!_

…

No matter how much his butterflies reacted when he was around.

"Language-!"

"I will be removing the restrains next Tuesday, if he asks me to."

"You will do no such thing!"

"Of course I can't. You, hiding in your office, will stop me. Naturally."

Harry swallowed tightly, hands shaking. What the hell? He wasn't awake, and Malfoy still fought for him? He had assumed at least in private Malfoy would get annoyed and tired of his obviously exhausting friendship with Harry…it was unnerving that it didn't seem that way. Malfoy seemed actually invested in Harry's short term happiness.

_Why?_

"I will see you in detention tonight, Mister Malfoy. Eight sharp."

"The pleasure will be all mine." Malfoy drawled. Harry imagined him to be bowing; it was such a _Malfoy_ thing to do. Footsteps left the hall, a door slamming from the right mimicking the one from the left as they both stormed out.

Harry opened his eyes and quickly glanced around. There was no way he was staying here; and be caught up between the cross fire? No fucking way.

He quickly threw his jumper back on, cringing as he realised he didn't even have his cloak to hide his faded pyjama's. He just hoped that the school was either eating or still asleep.

He scurried across the room, glancing back as he reached the door to ensure Pomfrey wasn't going to re-emerge at an inconvenient time. He should have been more worried with the other side of the door.

"Next time you're pretending to be asleep, try to keep your face expressionless. You looked like a boggart, with all that twisting and flinching. Very attractive."

Harry sighed, pressing his head against the door. Of course Malfoy would notice, bloody stalker that he was.

"Oh, good morning Malfoy. You just get here? I must have slept in today." He went for the ignorance.

Malfoy didn't.

"I'll humour you for now, but in regards to the future, I do not particularly like being stuck in tiresome conversations Squib of the Century in the morning. Gives me a headache that doesn't ebb away."

Oh.

Harry didn't particularly like the way his stomach constricted; it felt like he was being kicked in the gut. He knew that Malfoy's weird curiosity wouldn't last…he was surprising it had lasted this long, in all honesty.

"You were never obligated to come." Harry couldn't manage a half-hearted smile, like he couldn't those weeks ago when he returned to school. Great. Fantastic. It was better this way anyway. Harry couldn't let anyone get close. He wouldn't hurt anyone when he left.

He turned and nodded to Malfoy, staring at his bloody chin. Hell, he couldn't even look him in the eye. Something the Slytherins would pick up on immediately. Hell, something the Gryffindors would.

He hadn't even reached five steps before Malfoy caught up to him.

"I wasn't referring to you, you idiot." He drawled. Harry frowned, glancing at him. He looked more uncomfortable now than he did when he had woken to find himself wrapped around Harry. "I was talking about Pomfrey. She's been demoted."

Because _that_ made sense.

Harry just nodded, scurrying back to his room. Seriously, the stones were freezing his toes off. Didn't the castle have any warming charms? Did it _want_ its occupants to contract frostbite?

"So…are you-?"

Harry _wasn't _having this conversation. "Drop it."

"…I will, if you-"

"I'm fine." Harry stressed, glancing at the blonde with a smirk. "Long day yesterday. Wasn't ready for…last night. I'm fine."

Malfoy stared at him for a while, as if he was bloody seeing into his soul. It was really unnerving what those bloody grey eyes could observe.

"Really, I'm fine."

"_Fine_ isn't in my vocabulary."

"How plebeian of you." Harry threw back at him, forcing himself to smirk again. "Just drop it, alright? I wasn't myself yesterday." Or today.

And, surprising, Malfoy did drop it. He nodded once, still not blinking lest it stop him from his excessive staring. He only turned away as giggles reached them, people pointing and laughing as they hurried to their next class. Harry didn't have the effort to be annoyed; he _was_ wearing his pyjamas around the school, whilst skipping class. His hair was a mess, as usual, and he was in the company of Malfoy; it looked a tad suspicious.

"It was the bondage, wasn't it?" Harry almost tripped at that, snorting with laughter. "I shouldn't have brought up the bondage. _Way too _soon in the relationship."

"Rookie mistake." Harry concurred, watching as Malfoy nodded thoughtfully.

"So you only reject the timing?" Malfoy smirked, eyes sparkling with amusement. "Interesting."

"I believe the pleasure will be all mine." Harry laughed, bowing with a flourish. Malfoy didn't laugh, but he smiled. They both knew Harry had been awake to hear the fight, and neither cared.

As long as they didn't bring up the fact they had slept together. That could wait for another day.

Next year.

.

.

.

"It was nothing, Neville. Just drop it." Harry blatantly stared at the book before him instead of at his friend. How the hell did you even begin to learn how to pronounce this? Päevast? Was one word going to be his undoing?

"No, I will not bloody drop it! He made it into the common room, Harry! The _common room!_ Can you just imagine how everyone else would have reacted if they had found him?"

"You're acting like its sacred ground."

"Isn't it?"

Harry glanced at Neville, ignoring his thumping headache. He had been at this for days now. _Days._ Every time Harry had a bit of respite and thought he could relax, maybe _breathe _a little, and Neville popped up with a confused frown on his face, waiting for him. It was as if he knew Harry's routine. As if he was replacing Malfoy as the stalker.

"Nev, just let it go."

"You owe me an explanation, Harry. Something wasn't right that night…it still isn't right. I…I'm your friend, I'm worried about you."

"Don't be, I'm fine." Harry turned back to his book, ignoring Neville's pointed stare. He didn't remember him being there the other day, but apparently he was. He had seen Harry weak and vulnerable. And now, Harry couldn't meet his gaze. It was different with Malfoy. Malfoy had always known Harry was weak and pathetic; there was really no need to hide from him.

Neville was a different matter.

"…if you're in some kind of trouble, I can help." For the love of…! "If…_he's_ gotten you mixed up in anything, I can get you out."

They both glanced across the library to stare at Malfoy. His cronies and he were in a very tense chess battle, which he seemed to be winning. Despite the fact he was playing against Zabini, Parkinson, and Nott together. In fact, he looked semi-bored.

"I thought you didn't mind Malfoy." Harry tried to seem nonchalant, knowing he was failing pathetically. The blonde had glanced up at that moment, as though he had bat ears and knew they were gossiping about him. Silver eyes narrowed, but refused to look away from Harry's. It was always a bloody challenge with him, wasn't it?

"I don't mind that _you_ don't mind him." Neville corrected uneasily, shifting a bit. "He's not the nicest bloke around. Hey, even you can't deny that! He threatened to put me in the asylum last night. If he's doing anything that-"

"I think I can handle Malfoy on my own. He's actually not as scary as he would like everyone to believe."

Neville scoffed at that, and Harry thought he had gotten away with it.

"Why would he tell you that leaving wasn't an option? Why was he dragging you away in the middle of the night? Something's not right here, Harry." No, of course he wouldn't shut up.

"Just drop it."

"You said you didn't want to do it anymore! You told him not to make you!"

"Shut. Up!" Harry slammed his hand onto the desk, finally meeting determined eyes. "You have _no idea_ what you're talking about! I'm not leaving, because I have no choice in the matter! Malfoy is actually _helping me_, you complete and utter tosspot! I'd wish everyone would stop trying to take it out on him!"

Harry watched angrily as Neville regarded him. The frown wasn't gone yet, only deepened. Great.

"What do you mean you have no choice? Who's forcing you-?"

Harry groaned loudly, letting his head slump against the desk. Immature? Maybe. Regret it? Abso-fucking-lutely not. Of course he would focus on the least important sentence.

"Just _drop it_."

"Harry, I'm your friend. I'm just trying to help-"

Harry rolled his head on his arms, staring sullenly across the hall. Malfoy was still playing his friends in the chess game, barely paying any attention to Harry at all.

He slid the last remaining chair out from under the table.

A clear invitation.

Swallowing tightly, Harry took it.

Ignoring Neville, Harry stood up and quickly packed his books up. He could hear his friend sigh besides him. Who cared? Harry wasn't sitting here for _another_ day to listen to rebutting. The Slytherins were looking much better company; he didn't give a flying fuck if they insulted him.

It was as if he was crossing over to the dark side.

All the tables pointed and muttered to themselves, whispering around the room as Harry walked confidently up to the table. Malfoy had a small smirk on his face, but that was the only indication he knew Harry was heading over.

Seeming at ease, despite feeling sick to his stomach, Harry pulled the chair out and plonked himself down, dropping his books onto the table and propping his elbows on them. He yawned as if disinterested, eyes searching the board for any move he knew. A futile effort, but at least he tried. "So, who's winning?"

Harry had to bite his cheeks to keep from laughing.

Malfoy couldn't help his smirk.

The other Slytherins looked as if Voldemort had just popped back out of the ground and offered them all hugs. Eyes widened, jaws dropped, and pure confusion crossed their faces. If only Harry had a camera.

"...See why I have to play three on one?" Malfoy drawled eventually as they remained silent and in shock. "No wits about them."

_That_ certainly brought them back to their senses.

"I resent that." Zabini was the first to speak, mock hurt crossing his face. He lifted a hand to his chest, shaking his head as if wounded. "If _my_ playboy leapt at the table as if he belonged here, _you_ would be dumbstruck too."

Harry bristled at that, but Malfoy beat him to it.

"Key word there; _dumb_struck."

Zabini rolled his eyes, a smirk playing at his lips. He eyed Harry easily, eyebrows rising. "You can do better than that."

Harry shifted slightly in his chair, wondering what the hell he had gotten himself involved with. He didn't really want a heartfelt conversation with the Slytherins; it might result in the loss of his heart. But it was better than the scrutiny with Neville. Had to be.

"Did you really tell Neville he would be submitted into an asylum?" Harry asked Malfoy, watching carefully as his eye twitched. The other Slytherins had regained the hinges on their mouths, and were watching carefully. Whatever they thought they would see out of this conversation, Harry didn't know. Didn't care. He wasn't plotting or scheming like they would; they could look into whatever he said however they wished.

"Of course not." Malfoy drawled, barely blinking. "I told him he would be joining his parents in _their_ asylum."

A snort from Nott had Harry glare at him before turning back to the blonde. Why would he go straight for Neville's jugular? "_Why?"_ He asked, glancing back at the forlorn boy sitting by himself.

"Because he should learn to keep his mouth shut."Came the indifferent reply. "Why did _you_ leave him looking so heartbroken over there?"

Harry couldn't help the glare he gave Malfoy. "Whatever."

"No, no, I want to hear this. Why did you leave the new Gryffindork Golden Boy? Come on now, tell us."

The glare seemed to amuse Malfoy. The bastard. "…he couldn't keep his mouth shut."

Harry finally mumbled, glancing at the Slytherins as they chuckled. Well, Zabini and Nott chuckled. Parkinson was pale, looking as though she would rather be anywhere other than here. Did Harry offend her that much?

"Case and point." Malfoy nearly smiled as he moved another piece across the board to savagely behead Zabini's queen. Groans rose up from the other team; it was clear they didn't have a chance at winning.

"So, Potty," Zabini continued, smirking as Malfoy, for some unknown reason threw the filthiest glare at him. "What's climbed up the Gryffindorks arses and died?"

"Excuse me?" Harry scratched his arm a bit as they all exchanged a knowing look. "It's none of your business."

"Anything that happens to anyone in the school eventually gets back to Slytherin." Parkinson mumbled, glancing at the door hopefully.

"And if they're taking out their anger on us, it's definitely our business." Nott added evenly, staring at the chess board with a slight furrow across his brow. "Shit. We've been set up, Blaise."

Harry frowned at that, glancing at the irritated Malfoy. What did they mean 'taking out their anger'? They were angry at Harry, not at the Slytherins. The potions mishap was just that; a mistake that _wasn't _going to happen again.

"Stop ruining my fun, _Theodore."_ Malfoy snarled, rolling his eyes dramatically. He looked ready to kill. "You have _no idea_ how hard that was to set up."

"It's cruel what you do to a simple game of chess." Nott snapped back, shaking his head with annoyance. "You give the other person a glimmer of hope, before you squish them into oblivion."

The blonde merely blinked. "Malfoy." He said it as if it was an explanation. In some circumstances, it was.

"New game." Zabini said quickly, already setting up the pieces. Not even Malfoy's groan deterred him.

"Every time I play against you, hundreds of my brain cells die from slamming their heads against my skull. Potter has no brain cells; play him."

Eight eyes swivelled around the stare at Harry.

Shit.

Challenges everywhere, and yet not a single comforting gaze in the lot.

Harry shrugged, feigning indifference. His eyes were bellowing at Malfoy for an answer, but the blonde seemed pleased. _Smug. _Merlin, Harry wanted to kill him. "I don't play often." He admitted, informing them all at how awful he was going to be.

"Doesn't matter; Blaise plays every day and he's still woeful."

"And just where is your Slytherin patriotism?" Zabini asked, chuckling with the rest of them. It seemed like an inside joke, designed to make Harry an outsider. Before this year he would have been patriotic over Gryffindor. Now, not so much.

Zabini turned the board to face Harry. Seemed like he didn't have much say in the matter.

"You can be white, Golden Boy." He smirked, waiting for Harry to move. It was as if he was in a game, with life or death decisions. Slowly, hesitantly, Harry moved a pawn.

And the game began.

"So, Potty," Again a glare was thrown his way. Even Parkinson elbowed Zabini, mumbling not to push it. What the hell? "Gryffindor. Arses. Died. Care to shed some light on this matter?"

Harry shrugged, glancing at Malfoy. "I don't know." They all exchanged glances again, small smirks. It grated Harry's nerves; he was telling the truth. "Tell me, what crawled up yours?" He snapped as Zabini and Nott muttered something to one another.

Well, that caught their attention.

Not in the way Harry hoped.

Zabini actually smiled. _Smiled. "_And Gryffindork returns!" He sang, smirking as he moved another piece. Going in for the attack.

"Hardly." Harry moved forwards too, moving a rook to take a bishop. Zabini raised his eyebrows.

"Please, you're hardly a Slytherin, Potty." He yelped then, looking highly affronted as the cool Malfoy simply raised his eyebrows.

"I warned you." He said, turning back to the board. Three words and he backed down. What the hell was Malfoy? Overlord of the dungeons?

"I'm more Slytherin than you may think." Harry muttered, moving another piece to take a pawn. His pieces didn't merely attack Zabini's anymore. Instead of a sword slashing once, they had slowly began to get vicious. A stab through the heart was considered normal. When pieces started decapitating other pieces, and _retaining _each head as a keepsake? It was something they all noticed, but said nothing about. "I think they're just angry."

Raised eyebrows from most Slytherins. God, were they _really_ that dim-witted? Or did they want Harry to spell everything out for them?

"Gryffindors. Arses. Died." He snapped, "They're just angry."

"So it would seem." Malfoy cut in before Zabini could say anything, something Harry was grateful for.

It was what Harry needed to calm down. God, his anger was just out of control lately. He wanted to attribute it down to Malfoy's incessant badgering, but he knew what it really was. The holidays were starting soon. And he really didn't want to tell the Dursley's. Damn it all, too many people knew already. Neville was clueing in. And, to make matters worse, the two people that he _wanted_ to tell couldn't give him a time of day. Fuck it all, he just wanted to use magic!

After a few tense minutes of playing in silence, Harry felt he was able to speak without snapping like a…well, like a Gryffindor.

"…they're just mourning." He said quietly, blatantly not facing the Gryffindors. "They're angry. Soon it'll calm down and they'll go back to normal."

Again, one of those silence glances crossed the table.

"What? What does that mean?" Harry asked, clenching his teeth to stop the anger pouring out again. Malfoy was the one to speak.

"We all lost people, Potter." He picked up one of the books Harry had been studying, flipping through it with a small frown. "It just seems like a Slytherin tactic. Blame mourning for being complete and utter fuckwits."

"They haven't been _that_ bad-"

"Tch, give me the name of the bastard in potions that day."

Harry sighed, moving another piece forwards. Another head was collected. "I'm not letting you go out and bloody castrate someone."

"Pansy's the castrator, not me." Malfoy even had the conceitedness to _smile_ at that. As if he was _innocent_. Parkinson actually shrugged, not denying it. God, they were all mad.

"All the same, I don't want your hands dirty, dear." Harry pretended to be focusing on the chess game. No, he _was_ focussing on the chess game. Defiantly not stilling the butterflies. Not that he had any.

"You _love_ my hands dirty," Came the obvious reply. "_Harry_."

Harry swallowed tightly, hating that he could feel his face heat up. Why was it that just saying his _name_ could sound so dirty?

"Not from the blood of someone else's dick." He replied coolly, glancing up in surprise as the Slytherins chortled. He didn't think it was that funny; they seemed to be regarding him as someone they had never met before. It was as if the amnosity between them was gone. Well, besides the fact Parkinson kept glancing at the door, and was still oddly pale. And quiet. She was _never _quiet.

"Are…uh…well, are you alright?"

And the chuckles stopped.

Parkinson swallowed tightly, eyes flittering to Harry's face briefly before nodding, still not speaking. She half-heartedly smiled and stood, hurrying to the door. The slam echoed around the room.

Okay.

So he wasn't as welcomed here as he thought.

Harry blinked in shock, turning back to the game. The quicker it was over, the better.

"So you know who's been pulling all the pranks?" Zabini spoke as though Parkinson had never fled the library. As if Harry hadn't just scared her off.

"What's wrong with Parkinson?"

"So, you know who's been pulling all the pranks?" Nott repeated, effectively closing conversation that related to their friend. Harry sullenly glared at the chessboard. His knight slashed at Zabini's rook until it crumbled to the ground. Even then the piece didn't relent.

"I'm not selling anyone out."

"It would be for the good of all." Nott tried, snorting at Harry's unamused face. "Well, it would benefit us. Come on, they're dicks. All of them. They deserve a little of what they've been giving to us."

"Theo, Slytherin can take care of itself. As we've always done." Malfoy said quietly off to one side. He was still buried in the book, muttering to himself every now and then. It was a wonder why; he wouldn't be able to pronounce anything, just as Harry hadn't. "Stop trying to cut corners."

"There's actually a procedure to this, is there?" Harry asked with a laugh, one that cut off as three heads nodded. "Oh, god…you're not serious?"

"We do things to right way, in Slytherin." Zabini said as he regarded the board. "Everything."

"Well…remind me to never piss you guys off again." Harry muttered, moving one of his pawns. "I don't think I could handle organised crime as well as petty pranks."

"You'd be surprised." Malfoy sighed, turning to meet Harry's gaze again. "…So you're definitely not going to tell me? Not even a hint?"

Merlin, it was hell trying to turn away from those bloody grey orbs. They just screamed 'look into my soul!'.

"…Nope, not today."

"I'll get it out of you." Good luck with that.

Harry glared at the board. God, he was doing woefully. Zabini had almost taken his king twice now, and he was nowhere near his. He just didn't understand this game; it was _impossible_. Even though he had been playing against Zabini for longer than he had ever played against Ron, he didn't seem to be improving much.

"…knight to E4…" Harry muttered, trying to take another pawn off of the board.

Nothing happened.

"…_Knight to E4." _

Again, nothing happened.

Harry glanced up at Zabini, who looked as puzzled as Harry felt. They both scanned the board, trying to see why they wouldn't move.

"Is it my turn?" Zabini ordered one of his pieces to move, but it too remained stationary. What the hell? Even the chess pieces turned against him?

"I never thought I would see the day." Malfoy drawled, running a hand down his face as if in pain. Harry shared another confused glance with Zabini.

"What?"

"It seems you've both massacred every single limited brain cell you had between you. Tell me, is it fun having an IQ of less than fifty?"

Harry glanced back at the board. There was nothing wrong with it, that he could see.

"Malfoy, what's-"

"The game's over, dipshits." He drawled. "Checkmate. Did you _seriously _not know?"

Oh.

Harry searched the board, frowning. He didn't want to ask, but…

"Uh…so who won?"

Malfoy looked as though he was about to have a psychotic break. He slowly blinked, regarding them both. Nott was laughing in the corner, almost in hysterics. Harry blinked back the mirth slowly filling him. Even if he lost, the situation was just too funny. Malfoy had a bloody twitching eye. It was just too good.

"You did, moron. You did."

Harry grinned.

.

.

.

_31. Actually win a game of wizard's chess_

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.

Two days later, Harry caught the Hogwarts Express to London. It was to be the first Christmas with the Dursley's since he was a kid. And though he was nervous about telling them about his illness, he was surprised to find himself excited with the reunion. Hopefully Dudley had changed for the better. And who knew? A week getting to know his cousin couldn't be that bad.

Harry left on the Friday with excitement.

He returned Sunday.


	16. Flaky, Frosty, and Icy

**Hello my lovely reviewers! **I'm so so so sorry that this is so late! I could try to make up a reason why I hadn't written it/ updated in so long, but it would be a lie. I simply didn't want to write this chapter, because I know what's going to happen soon. :( My logic was I know what's going to happen, so I don't need to write it, but then I felt very guilty for all my reviewers and readers, that they wouldn't know what was going to happen to my Harry and Draco. so, I final wrote it, and I tried to make it nice and long for you. I know that's not a good explanation - I'm much better in the chapter, I swear! :) (I apologize for spelling/grammar already - I did a quick check, didn't have time to go into detail. It's 1am here!)

Thank you for all who review my story!I'm sorry it took so long to review! I hope you like it - and I swear, Harry isn't insane. I was just having a little fun. I needed to have some fun to cut out the depressing moments !

I do not own anything here, nor am I making a profit from this. It is purely to pass my time, and hopefully, interest other people. J. owns Harry Potter, not me. ENJOY!

(Oh! Don't kill me with the Dursley's - it will be explained!)

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**Chapter 16 – Flaky, Frosty, and Icy **

Though he was supposed to maintain his reputation as a heartless bastard, Draco couldn't help but like Christmas. He liked the solitude; the fact everyone went home and left him the bloody hell alone. The fact he could open his presents in private and not care about other's feelings if they gave him a completely inappropriate present he despised, and he reacted in kind by obliterating it. And most of all, he loved the fact everyone was so happy, and it was complete child's play to ruin their mood. If he played his cards right, he had the ability to ruin someone's Christmas altogether; power. That was what he loved.

And he _supposed_ he didn't mind the decorations at Hogwarts. Though they were often large, horrendously mismatched and clearly put together by the Oaf Hagrid, it was warm, to a degree. The manor never had lights. It _definitely _didn't have mistletoe. And it only had a singular tree, hardly decorated.

Though the thought of his mother alone at the manor at Christmas was a bit upsetting, Draco had found the perfect remedy. He didn't think of his mother alone in the manor at Christmas. There. Done. He could enjoy his solitude in peace.

This year, most of the students went home. It was _glorious_.

Slytherins flocked to their parents, either happy they were still alive, or spending one last hurrah before their parents were shipped off to Azkaban for the evils last year. The rest of the school had hurried home too, mourning the loss of siblings and cherishing time together. Even _Blaise_ had gone home, and he didn't particularly get alone with his mother at the moment. Well, he didn't like the new husband. But that was expected; he would be dead in five months anyway. Hopefully. He had thirty gallons riding on that bet. Blaise had bet three; stingy bastard.

Even Theo went home this year, only gods knew why. His father was already in Azkaban, and his mother had died years ago. What was the use spending time at Christmas alone in a manor, with only house elves for company? It would drive one mad.

Ignoring the fact Draco was at Hogwarts by himself. Surrounded by teachers, snooty younger students, and house elves. Each to their own.

Two first year boys and a third year girl had stayed this Christmas; they weren't of consequence. They stayed out of Draco's way, as they should. He didn't care how many stayed in the other houses; he barely paid attention to them. They were always outside throwing snowballs, or laughing obnoxiously in the library.

Who cared if it was a holiday? The library was the library, no matter what time of the year. A lesson two Hufflepuffs learned well as they ran crying from the room.

And no. He wasn't the Grinch.

He simply enjoyed his solitude.

It gave him time to think.

Draco glanced out the window, watching soft snowflakes drift through the air and settle onto the windowsill. It was pretty; he could admit _that_.

He glanced across the grounds, frowning.

Yes, solitude gave him time to think.

Mostly about Potter.

And why he would be on school grounds Monday afternoon, when he was supposed to return that Friday.

.

.

.

He had made a fucking army.

Draco stood against a tree, eyebrows raised and jaw about to gape open, clearly in a demonstration of Malfoyian rebellion. Potter must be insane to have done…_this_. It was…no words could describe Draco's horror.

Snowmen.

Plural.

A few? That would have been fine. Nothing wrong with making a snowman.

But no.

Potter always had to go the step further.

There were bloody _dozens_ of the things. An army. Two, actually, as Draco surveyed further. Two armies facing off in a bloody forest of snowmen. They were different shapes, sizes…and the creepiest thing about them was that they all had different faces. They had expressions. And it was fucking _terrifying_. No, it wasn't the weapons Potter had given some of them, it was their _faces_ that made children terrified stepping outside in winter; Potter had some potentially scarring matter here, and he was using it for…for only Merlin knew what. Hell, not even Draco would relinquish this on some giggling Hufflepuffs. He would have felt guilty for the thought.

And there was Potter.

He was placing stones on another snowman's face, making it into a grimace that had the ability to haunt Draco's nightmares for years to come. The snowman was actually bigger than Potter was; he had to reach to place its eyes. Eyes, which were lopsided, and now made him…_it…_look demented and furious. Great. It had emotions too, did it?

"What kind of sickness is this?" Draco couldn't stop the drawl, even though he had wanted to.

Potter spun around, eyes wide as he caught sight of Draco. He ran a hand through his hair nervously, rolling his eyes a tad overdramatically. Then he smiled.

Something was wrong.

The smile was fake.

"Stalking me already? Didn't take long." He pretended to laugh, turning back around to fix the snowman's eyes. It really didn't help.

"I must admit I'm slipping." Draco called back evenly. Keep the mask on. Indifferent. Calm. "When _did_ you get back?"

"Huh? Oh, yesterday; McGonagall came and got me. I didn't really feel up to dinner; assignments and all that."

They had the same classes.

And no assignments.

"What is…this?"

Potter continued to wear that ridiculous sham of a smile, as he came over and laughed half-heartedly. "They're snowmen."

"Obviously. What are you doing with them?"

"Nothing." He actually looked confused at that, but lit up a little. "I'd never actually built one, and when better than now? Something else crossed off my list. I was practising juggling again, but I can't get it right no matter how hard I bloody try; I keep dropping the rocks. Look at this scrape!"

Draco watched as Potter bit his lip, glancing around for inspiration.

"Why does that one have no nose?" Draco asked, pointing to a particularly ugly one. That, however, made Potter snort out laughter.

"Oh, that's Mouldy Shorts."

"Mouldy…_Potter! You can't do that!" _

Draco glanced back at the snowman, shuddering as it seemed to sneer at him. All it needed was a bloody snake wrapped around its shoulders. Fucking Potter, he had no sense of humour!

"What's the big deal? He's dead, Malfoy. He's not coming back." And, as if to demonstrate his stupid belief in that statement, he scooped up a bit of snow, hurling it at '_Mouldy Short's'_ face.

"_Potter!" _

"Easy! He's not the one you have to be aware of." Draco couldn't believe Potty said that with a straight face. "Flaky got sent into exile last night…turns out he was a spy. _That's right! I'm talking about you!" _

Draco almost jumped as Potter suddenly yelled out, jerking around to see whatever he was talking to. And sure enough, on the edge of the tree line, a snowman head was poking out of the forest. Complete with a sad face.

Dear God.

"Potter, whatever bizarre midlife crisis you're stuck in-"

"What? I can't have a little fun?"

Draco blinked, regarding the brunette. That strain of a smile was still there.

Fuck, he couldn't do it.

Draco nodded, staring around the army warily. The snowmen needed to be killed. All fifty of them. He couldn't do it. But he knew two annoying Hufflepuff's that owed him a favour.

He followed Potter through the eerie horde, listening to him prattle about nothing. Merlin, they were all deformed.

"Careful. That's Frosty." Draco allowed Potter to grab his arm and pull him away from a rather fat snowman with one eye. "I don't trust him."

Draco didn't trust Potter's sanity. And yet, here they were.

In hell.

This was just bizarre. Even more so when they reached the middle of the killer horde, to find a half completed …igloo? Maybe?

"I've never built one before. It's actually quite hard; you know, finding snow that doesn't fall apart when bumped." Potter dropped himself down onto his knees, scooping up snow again and squishing it into a wavy block. He didn't look back up at Draco, but kept his head down as he prattled. "I wonder how the Eskimos do it…I've been working since last night trying to get this done, and I'm not even half done! Not even a third. It's a hell of a lot harder without mag…I mean, it's just really difficult. It doesn't matter how hard I press the snow, it doesn't stay. And how the _hell_ do they get it into a sphere? Mine doesn't curve at all!"

And it never would. Not if Draco had anything to say about it.

But he couldn't. Not when that fake smile was still plastered on Potter's face.

Fuck, he had thought he had gotten rid of that.

So, despite the fact it was about two degrees outside, and he was wearing limited outwear, and he had a bloody lemon meringue tart waiting for him in the common room, Draco did a very un-Slytherin thing.

He sank to his knees, cursing Potter's bloody crisis and his ruined trousers, and began scooping snow. He didn't say a thing. He didn't have to.

Everyone knew Potter didn't handle silence well; he practically leapt at Draco for conversation whilst the Gryffindorks were being the douches they usually were. All he had to do was sit, and wait, and hope that 'Flaky' didn't ruin the moment with readmission into Potter's army.

The igloo was never going to be created. Perhaps Potter's smile could.

.

.

.

Harry kept his head down, and collected snow to pummel into cubes. He couldn't look at Malfoy. He couldn't even glance in that direction without wanting to scream about his own bloody stupidity, and naivety, and…

Harry clenched his hands against the clump of snow, gritting his teeth angrily as it exploded and sent the cold ice everywhere. He couldn't depend of Malfoy for every little thing. God, he was an adult now. He was supposed to be independent and all that shit; he was supposed to be _alone_.

Wasn't this why he hadn't tried to mend the relationship with Hermione and Ron? Wasn't this why he was going to have to chase Neville off? Wasn't this why he was completing the bloody list?

_It was supposed to be easier this way!_

When the hell had he let Malfoy in? And when, only _God's _know why, did Malfoy seem determined to _stay_ in? He _shouldn't _be relying on him all the time; no, he _couldn't _rely on him. At all!

Because when he di…

Because in a few months time Malfoy would be alone, and, though it is impossible to imagine, _upset_, and _hurt_, and it would be Harry's fault. He had driven away Ron, to hurt Malfoy instead? Where the hell is the logic in that? He was relying on Malfoy for everything, and it wasn't right. It had to stop. Now.

Which meant he _couldn't _rant and rave about the unfairness of…of _everything_ to him now, because…

Harry sighed heavily, rubbing his frozen fingers on his eyes. It wasn't fair. He had to remain strong, no matter how unfair it was. He had to smile, and…and _bear_ it, and…

It's too much for one fucking person!

Harry grit his teeth, slamming the snow back to the ground angrily. How hard was it to build a fucking igloo?!

He stumbled to his feet, twirling around and stomping over to one of his many snowmen, wrenching its arm from its socket. It was a good branch, thick and strong. Fan-fucking-tastic.

Harry swung it down on the head of the snowman, watching with detached interest as the eye was knocked away and its face mangled. Again. Again. It had taken twenty minutes to build that one.

Fifteen this one.

The better half of an hour for Frosty.

"It was just one fucking igloo!" Harry growled, swinging the makeshift bat at Rollie, ripping his face apart when he tried to fight back by grabbing Harry's jacket. "One fucking consideration! But you can't even give me that!"

"Potter."

He discarded the branch for killing them himself, hands ripping and feet kicking all the icemen around him. They all stared at him, mocking him, sneering at him. If he couldn't be happy, then they couldn't either! If_ he_ wasn't allowed a life, then why the fuck should they? He had given them _names_, _jobs…_Icey over there was given the perfect fucking family!

_"Potter." _

Harry stormed over to Icey, shoving him over and kicking his face in. Stupid bloody fucking grin on his face? Grin now, you hunk of melting ice. Oh, but he still had his family, didn't he? His _perfect_ bloody family, _oozing_ happiness. Harry turned to Timmy-

"_Potter!" _

Harry growled as he was wrenched away from the miniature snowboy, tackled to the floor instead. He swallowed a mouthful of ice, blinking as his brain tried to figure out how he had gone from assassinating happy-go-lucky snowmen to being pushing to the floor…

He felt something touch his back.

Harry rolled to the side, knocking whatever it was flat and reaching for his wand, grabbing, with his other hand, the collar of…Malfoy.

Malfoy.

Fuck. Fuck. _Fuck. _

_"FUCK!" _

Harry clenched his teeth tighter, squeezing his eyes shut. Don't look at him. Just walk away. Just walk away, don't involve him.

He stumbled to his feet, trying to listen to his brain. It was actually quite hard to shove a wand back up a sleeve when one had their eyes closed; even harder when he realised it was his fake wand he had grabbed. What the hell was he supposed to do with a fake wand? Poke the assailant's eye out?

"_Potty." _

Harry made a mistake.

He glanced at Malfoy.

And promptly sank back to the floor, struggling to control his emotions and the fucking stinging behind his eyes. He was just so _angry._ And hurt. And exhausted. And…fuck, he couldn't even look at Malfoy without feeling _pathetic._

"What happened with muggles?"

What happened? _What happened? _Well, after they sneered, taunted, mocked, ridiculed, ignored, derided, snickered, disregarded, overlooked, and ripped the sliver of hope left within him and fed it to Ripper? "Nothing."

Malfoy growled in irritation, almost barking. "_Potter_, I-"

"_Nothing happened."_

_"Something_ happened."

"Oh no, I can assure you, nothing did. Absolutely fuck nothing." Harry sighed, pinching his nose in an attempt to calm down. This bloody anger was nauseating; it was uncontrollable, ready to flare up in an instant. It made him feel like he had in fifth grade again, and nobody liked his mood in fifth grade.

He waited for remark that was bound to come. The 'what did you expect?' speech that everyone else had so readily given him already. The speech that he repeated every few hours since his abrupt return to the castle. The little intelligent yet snide remark that Malfoy seemed to have a plethora of, ready at his disposal for any situation.

"They didn't care." He muttered when no comment was immediately given, glaring at the snow again. "Didn't give two fucks. Sure, Dudley seemed conflicted. But my Aunt didn't even _look_ at me after I told her; just pretended I wasn't there. And the tub of lard could hardly keep the money tags from rolling into his eyes. It was just…I came home instead, back to Hogwarts. Why did I expect anything to change? God, I'm so _stupid."_

"You're many things, Potty, but you're not stupid."

Harry blinked at the near compliment, glancing at the blonde sitting a few yards away. He hadn't moved yet except to sit up again, head cocked to one side against his palm, resting his elbows on his knees. He looked the perfect picture of ease. Even with watch patches covering his clothing, and snow clumps through his hair. And, even better, he didn't seem to be judging in the slightest.

"Every kid wants their parent's approval. Look at my life, case and point. The only difference between you and me is I've learnt it's impossible."

"They're not my parents. Hell, I don't even _consider _them-"

"And yet, here you are, massacring innocent little snowmen." Harry watched warily as Malfoy stretched and climbed to his feet, brushing himself down with a grimace. "I'm beginning to realise you were lenient with exile for Flaky. Are you coming inside, or are going to kill some more?"

"That's it?" Damn it, Harry! Shut your bloody traitorous mouth!

Malfoy shrugged, holding out a hand to pull Harry to his feet. "I don't know what else to say." That was simple and bluntly honest; a miracle in itself. "I could curse them for you if you'd like? I've been reading up on quite a few interesting jinxes with the empty library, and I always need test subjects."

Harry shook his head tiredly, allowing himself to be pulled to his feet. He was being ridiculous. It was just the Dursley's, nothing special. Sure, it hurt. But then so did everything that related to them. "I would get the blame, and I don't particularly like imagining my last few months in Azkaban." Though they would deserve it.

Get over it, Harry. Grin and bear it. It's the fucking _Dursley's_; they. Don't. matter.

Harry glanced at Malfoy, smiling softly at the snow still piled in his hair. Did he honestly not feel it? It should be freezing his scalp off. God, even dishelved and dirty did Malfoy look like some hot magazine model…no. Don't go there, Harry. _Please_, don't go there. He reached up, and brushed the ice from the blonde hair, rolling his eyes as Malfoy blinked at him as if gobsmacked, almost flinching away. "Yes, you caught me; I was cutting a lock for my 'I heart Draco Malfoy' binder." Almost.

He pretended to smile, trudging a path up to the castle. He ignored the gaze drilling into his back, trying to salvage a way to his chest.

"And you're fine? Just like that?"

"I overreacted, Malfoy." He held the smile there. If he didn't look at Malfoy, the stalker wouldn't know he was lying through his teeth. It was a physical effort to keep his voice light and happy. "It was a stupid thing to do in the first place. It's just a stupid list."

He could pretend he wasn't breaking.

As long as he figured out a way to get rid of Malfoy, before the butterflies forced him into something that would break the Slytherin too.

.

.

.

_30. Build my first snowman_

.

.

.

Harr_y _blinked in surprise as Malfoy dropped onto the bench across from him, as if it was perfectly normal for a Slytherin to be pulling up a chair at the Gryffindor table. The blonde didn't seem perturbed, instead helped himself to tedious amounts of Sheppard's pie, moaning in appreciation. They had both separated to dry off and fend off pneumonia with a shower, agreeing to meet here for lunch. Only Merlin knew why Malfoy needed a two hour shower; they were lucky the castle had hot water, the way he would probably carry on.

Harry took the time to snap himself back together, berating himself for his weakness and spending quite a while punching his pillow. No more. Malfoy wasn't going to see him weak or pathetic again, no matter the situation. He was Harry bloody Potter, for fuck's sake; he knew how to bluff his way out of Voldemorte's clutches; _Malfoy_ shouldn't be a problem.

Except the fact Harry had began to fight the urge to smile when he saw him.

And the fact he found himself searching for the arrogant blonde's company whenever he could.

Butterflies; enough said?

Of course this little…infatuation was nothing. It couldn't be anything. Especially when you brought to light that Harry was interested in _females_. It _wasn't _going to be labelled as a crush; it was just a close friendship, something Harry had striven to avoid.

But then, why did it feel different from Ron?

No, enough! They were friends, that's all. He wasn't interested in a relationship, not with a fucking _boy_, and definitely not with Draco Malfoy!

…

Despite the fact they were fiancés.

It was too confusing; with his already emotional rollercoaster turmoil he was currently trying to shift through.

"…I believe you're at the wrong table." Harry stated, swallowing as Malfoy's level gaze settled on him instead of his meal. "Or are you embracing your inner lion?"

"When I said 'see you at lunch', funnily enough I meant 'see you at lunch'. Do you want me to sign it? Spell it? I can create flashcards if it would make it easier for your tiny little brain to comprehend."

Harry ignored him, opting instead to frown over his goblet of water. "I've discovered something very strange, recently. It's an odd conundrum; if Malfoy didn't spend so much time under the guise of a prick, he would actually resemble a normal person."

"Don't speak about me like I'm not here, Potty. Or didn't your m-muggle relatives teach you manners?" Harry sighed at that, shaking his head at the indifferent blonde. It was a lucky save; Harry really didn't think he had it in him to hate the git again.

"That would require they _had_…what are you doing?"

Harry watched idly as Malfoy piled food high on a second plate, an assortment of various foods around the table. Of course, being lunch, there were only a few selections to choose from, none of which seemed compatible on the same plate. Brownies certainly didn't go with pie. Nor did a chicken wing, for that matter.

"You can't possibly eat all that."

"No, I can't." Malfoy admitted with a sigh, shaking his head with mock sadness. Harry actually felt pity for the git, before the plate slid over to his side of the table. "You can try, though."

"I've already eaten." Harry dodged the bullet, picking up his goblet instead and taking a sip. Water was good; it didn't make him want to throw up.

"Which plate did you use?"

Shit.

Harry glanced around for inspiration, gesturing to some plate in the distance. "I was too close to the third years, they kept giggling."

"Nice try. Eat."

"I'm really not that hungry, Malfoy." _Why _was he being so stubborn about this? He had his chin tilted high already, a clear sign he was determined to win whatever battle he had designed. "I had a big breakfast."

"Actually, you weren't here at breakfast. Or dinner."

Great, he had to concede. Again.

"It makes me nauseous."

"It's on your list."

Harry blinked, clenching his teeth tightly. How _dare_ he? That little bastard_…_it hadn't even been half a day and he was thrusting it in his face!

"So were the Dursley's, and you know how well _that_ turned out-"

"You've beaten the Womping Willow, and you're not going to attempt to beat _dinner_? Potty, eat."

Harry stared at the plate. The brownie was already getting soggy, the prick. There was no way in hell he was going to be able to complete the entire plate, but he could still try a few nibbles, he supposed. Bloody Malfoy and those demanding eyes.

"Fine. But I'm going to throw up all over you, I hope you know."

"How utterly charming." But Malfoy was smiling, which took all the disgust right out of it. How could anyone hate a Malfoy, when they could smile like that? It was just perfec-

No. Harry, _don't _go there.

Friends. Friends. Only fucking friends.

Harry bit into the brownie, frowning at the taste. As expected, it wasn't supposed to be served with a side of meaty sauce. Who knew?

"So why does Parkinson hate me?" Harry asked as he took another little bite, cringing at the taste. It was thick, almost gagging him. He needed to gulp down the rest of his drink just to swallow. God, who invented brownies? "The rest of Slytherin are…well, not as creepy as they used to be. Don't get me wrong," He had to hurry on as Malfoy's eyes glinted dangerously, "they're still tossers, and I'm sure they're as dastardly as ever…but they're not as mean now, you know?"

"Slytherin hasn't turned _weak_-"

"I know they haven't! I didn't imply it! They're just…friendlier. Kind of. Come on, they played chess with me, I have some basis."

Harry watched with growing trepidation as Malfoy cocked his head to the side, eyes considering now. Not a good sign. "So…you think we should 'up the ante'?"

"No! I mean, Merlin, no! I like you just the way you are, thanks." He couldn't deal with the Slytherin Ice Prat, not in long periods of time. "I just…was wondering why Parkinson is the only one that still seems to loathe me."

"Tch, she doesn't loathe you." Malfoy snorted, eyes narrowing again. "Why do you continuously bring Pansy up? Have a little crush, do you?"

"I do not have a crush on Pansy!" Oh Merlin, he could shoot himself. It sounded suspicious, even from where Harry was sitting. That, and he could feel his face heat up already. God, this was going to be hell.

"Not on _Pansy_, huh? Another Slytherin, though? You do! Oh sweet Salazar, look at your face. A Slytherin, huh?" Harry hid his face in his hands, groaning and shaking his head. Why was he an apparent open book?

"Is it Daphne? Everyone had a crush on Daphne. No, you seem more of the Millicent type. It's Millie, isn't it? She cast a spell on you?"

"Fuck off."

Harry couldn't help the smile that spread across his face though, as Malfoy laughed, head on the table and shoulders heaving. He wasn't the Ice Prince here, he wasn't a Malfoy…he was just Draco, and Harry loved…- it. The fact that he could be Draco in front of him. Like how Harry could be himself, without the bravado and façade.

"Well, whoever it is has no chance. You're going to have to get rid of me first, my sweet little fiancé. And I don't plan on going down without a fight."

Harry blinked at Malfoy's grin, mouth dry. He…it was in jest, right? _Right?_

"You haven't tried the pie yet, pumpkin." Malfoy cocked his head to one side again, grin stretched across his face. "Do you want me to feet it to you? I'm sure I can find a way to make you swallow."

"I'm sure you can, Mister Malfoy."

Harry jumped in his seat, jerking his eyes from Malfoy's to find, to his _utter humiliation_, Professor McGonagall standing behind Malfoy's chair. How hadn't he noticed her approaching them? The room was practically empty; their own cutlery echoed, let alone forthcoming footsteps.

Harry couldn't help the snort of laughter that escaped, shoving a hand to cover his mouth. He couldn't even summon the will to look embarrassed; it was _Malfoy_ that looked mortified. His cheeks tinged pink, and he couldn't exactly meet her gaze. He did throw a filthy glare at Harry though, who needed two hands to cover his mouth. His lungs were exploding, but each time he tried to take a breath uncontrollable laughter burst out instead.

Harry couldn't look at either of them; instead he focused on the table, staring at a particular stain on the table. What an odd shape.

"I'm sorry for interrupting what I am sure was riveting conversation…" She paused here, waiting for Harry to stop his bout of giggles. "But I need to speak with you in private, Mister Malfoy. It shouldn't take too long."

Harry managed to stop his mirth in time to glance up, a grin across his face. And Malfoy, surprisingly, didn't look like he wanted to throttle Harry for the lack of a heads up. He looked exasperated, but his lips were twitching with amusement. He was still blushing. It just made Harry snort again, eyes flicking to anywhere but McGonagall.

"Come find me, you utter tosspot." He grinned, getting up to follow McGonagall eagerly. "Just finish your plate first; I'll know if you don't."

Oh yes, Malfoy the transcendent always knew.

One with many talents.

Harry burst into laughter.

.

.

.

Harry groaned as he hugged the toilet bowl, cursing the blonde Slytherin prat to hell and back. Oh yes, eat the plate Harry. It's on your list, Harry. Fuck the list! He just wanted to sit up without having to heave his insides out. Turns out the nausea wasn't a figment of his imagination.

"Harry, what are you doing? Are you sick? Do you…do you want me to get the nurse?"

Harry couldn't help the flinch, growling to himself as he pushed himself up. Where the hell was she? He spun around widely, trying to find her before his head spun and his stomach heaved again. No, bad idea. Defiantly a bad idea.

"Oh, Harry, lie back down, and I'll-"

"_Get away from me_." Harry snapped, finally landing his eyes on the silvery ghost. She was drifting near the window, biting her lip worriedly and she wrung her hands together. She was the epitome of guilt. Good.

Harry clutched at his stomach, a hand grabbing the basin and heaving himself to straighten his back. To keep his eyes on _her_. He could deal with slight discomfort if it meant he was safe.

Of course, he knew she couldn't really do anything; she was a ghost. The most she could do was make him a little cold. The worst…well, he knew the worst.

"Harry, I'm _sorry_, I am, truly. I was just so exited, I was torn a little, but I was always going to-!"

"_Leave me there?"_ Harry snapped, hand tightening on the basin furiously. At least she had the modesty to look ashamed. "_I don't _want _to die, Myrtle!_ I thought it would be fine if I was with you, but I didn't expect you to try to _ensure_ my death!"

"I didn't Harry! I called for help, I _wasn't_ going to leave you there!"

She drifted forwards, tears bursting from her eyes as silver droplets, glistening against her transparent skin. Usually, it would have been pretty. Today, not so much.

"_Get away from me, Myrtle!" _

"I…please Harry, it was a mistake. Everyone makes mistakes! I just…I don't want to be alone anymore. _Please_, Harry, _I don't want to be miserable moaning Myrtle! Please-"_

_"Get out!" _

Harry shifted away, stumbling slightly, and groaning as he felt his head spin again, bile rising in his throat. He couldn't deal with this right now, not alone and cornered with a ghost out for his death.

It hurt to look at her; she was sobbing, looking more devastated then Harry had seen her in…well, ever. It made her wailing attempts through the years as simple bouts of trying to gain attention. And, thinking about it weakly, Harry assumed they probably were. Life as a ghost must be miserably lonely.

"I…I'm leaving…" She cried, hiding her face in her hands. She could barely speak; her words came out in heartbroken sobs. "He…he just a-a-asked me to g-get you…" That was all she managed before diving through the nearest toilet, her cries dimming the further she fled.

Harry threw up again, for an entirely different reason.

It was an effort to stumble through the common room, clinging to the furniture as a lifeline. He had better be right in his assumptions, or there would be a Slytherin with a very sore arse in the morning. Because he was going to kick him. Get your head out of the gutter.

Harry shoved the portrait open, sighing with relief.

There was a very smug looking blonde, in the middle of a very entertaining bickering match with the Fat Lady. Only Merlin knew why someone would want to fight with a painting, but each to their own, Harry assumed.

Malfoy glanced at Harry, blinking in shock at his appearance, he was sure. "Did the Weaselette firecall?" Was all he said before shoving Harry backwards, clambering inside before the Fat Lady could snap shut on him.

The shove wasn't that good.

Harry cupped a hand to his mouth, groaning as he took a few steps back, trying to contain the steadily rising bile. No. He wasn't going to vomit. It had been a few hours since he had eaten; it should be out of his system now, shouldn't it?

Harry almost tripped as a hand grabbed his elbow, leading him deeper into the Gryffindor common room. He couldn't even complain about the fact a Slytherin was in Gryffindor sacred land; he was steadily edging closer to the bathroom. Good. Bathroom. Closer.

Instead, he was shoved none too gently onto the couch. Before he could complain, however, a firm hand pushed his head down between his knees.

"Breathe, Potty. Even babies have the action down pat." Harry chuckled weakly, gulping down deep breaths despite the fact it made him want to sprint to the bathroom even more.

"No…no, I have to-"

"_Breathe_, Potty." Harry stiffened as the hand began to stroke the back of his neck, tingles running down his spine. God, he never knew someone could be so gentle.

"Salazar, Potter, relax a little." That was like telling him to admit to everyone he was ill; it was never going to happen. "So, what did the Weaselette want?" Harry snorted again, staring adamantly at the worn carpet instead of the silk slippers near his feet, or the knees almost bumping into him, or the fact that Malfoy had just run a hand through his hair.

"Uh…it was the…uh…food…I told you I was nauseous."

"I must admit I didn't really believe you. My mistake; I underestimated the ridiculous allegiance to the truth you Gryffindorks seem to hold dear."

"We lie a lot more than you think."

"I know. I also know you can't with a straight face. Feeling better?"

"Yeah, a little." In honesty, he wasn't feeling nauseous anymore. No, instead the innocent touches on his neck had a warm feeling swelling in his stomach, a tightness he didn't realise was there until this moment. Merlin, he _liked_ it when Malfoy touched him. Oh, fuckity fuck fuck…!

"If I let you up, will you promise not to throw up on me?" Harry nodded, barely. He didn't truthfully know if he could hold onto that promise.

Slowly the fingers let go of the weird tingling massage on Harry's throat, letting him lift his mortified _red_ face and avoid eye contact with the grinning blonde. "Like that, did you?"

"A bit." Harry coughed, testing out his dizziness. His head still spun a little, but wasn't nearly as bad as it had been. Maybe he had just needed the distraction? Okay, fine. Now what to distract him from the overly close blonde?

"I still can't believe how red it is in here." Malfoy commented, his eyes never leaving Harry's. "It's grotesque how much…brightness you can have in a room."

"I like it."

"It's a room made for the blind."

"Lucky I live here, then."

Harry swallowed at the intensity of Malfoy's gaze, feeling light headed as those eyes snapped onto his throat as he did. Didn't he come here for a reason? Or just to…stare? It was unnerving as all hell, especially when Malfoy shifted slightly, angling himself just that much closer…

Giggling sounded from the Girl half of the tower, thankfully breaking the spell. Harry swallowed tightly again, trying to wet his parched throat. God, he was about to lean in…_again!_ Control, Harry! Fucking control!

Avoiding Malfoy's gaze, Harry glanced at the doorway, mentally wincing as the two third years came barrelling through the door. They were usually okay with Harry; they didn't go out of their way to me rude, and the redhead had even shyly asked for his autograph when the holidays began. That didn't mean they had to approve of the Slytherin in the middle of their common room, however. And they evidently didn't.

Both jaws dropped open, the blonde snapping first. "What is _he_ doing in here? Veronica, get Headmistress McGonagall! He's broken in here…_he's_ broken in-"

"He's a guest, actually." Harry said quietly, blinking under the acute stare of both girls. "I let him in."

"But this is the _Gryffindor _common room…_Gryffindor Tower._ There isn't supposed to be _anyone_ of another house in here; it's against the rules. I don't want _him_ in _my-"_

_"It's my tower too." _Harry snapped, shoving himself off of the couch and immediately wishing he hadn't. The bile rose up again, threatening to make an escape. Damn lunch. "And since I'm an eighth year, I think that overpowers you."

"None of the _other_ seniors would try to pull a stunt like this-!"

Malfoy sighed loudly, rolling his eyes. "Potter, are you coming to bed or not?" He had to bloody audacity to look innocent as three pairs of eyes bulged at him. "What?" He asked defensively, glancing at the girls with that evil gleam in his eye. "We were about to shag before we were so rudely interrupted; wouldn't you be more comfortable in your room, _Harry_?"

Both girls squealed at that, hands clasped to mouths and jaws dropping to the floor. Malfoy didn't seem to mind; he grabbed Harry by the arm again, this time supporting him half-heartedly as he directed him to Harry's empty dormitory.

Harry waited until a locking charm was placed on the door before glancing at Malfoy, hurrying to his bed quickly. "Was…was that really necessary?" Bloody hell, there would be a fresh batch of rumours by the time Christmas was finished. Fantastic. As usual.

And, as usual, Malfoy didn't look perturbed. "Those bints should learn to mind their own business, shouldn't they?" He rose an eyebrow, the gleam still present in that silvery eye.

Harry swallowed, kicking dirty clothing under the bed and glancing at the Slytherin still by the door. He…he hadn't been serious, had he? It was just a jest for the behalf of those two girls…but what if he _had_ been serious? That challenge was still in his eyes. Bloody hell, Harry was just getting used to the fact he had a crush…infatuation…whatever it was, on Malfoy, let alone having to think about…that! Because, let's face it, it was never going to happen. He didn't even know where he stood with it at the moment.

Images flashed to his mind. The hand running through his hair, trailing up and down his throat…

No! Stop it, Harry!

Harry kicked off of his shoes, pretending to yawn. He still felt sick to his stomach, though now it was probably nerves instead of the excessive amounts of fatty foods.

"I…I'm actually feeling a bit…tired…I'm just going to call it a night…"He muttered, blatantly not staring at the Slytherin. "Sorry we were…in…interrupted…uh…maybe another…" Enough mortification for one night.

Harry quickly changed into his pyjamas, hoping Malfoy would take the hint and leave. The hope was short lived.

He turned back around to see Malfoy considerably closer than he had been, that trademark smirk on his face. He nodded towards the door, eyes shining with _something_ behind them. "I don't particularly want to have to face the immature taunts of the thirteen year olds. I made my statement, now I intend to stand by it." Harry's jaw dropped open, eyes widening. He wasn't…he _couldn't _be serious? Could he? It _had_ to be a bluff, or a dare, or…_something. _

"I'm sleeping in here, Potty. So they don't know I was lying." The smirk remained, his amusement at Harry's very apparent humiliation all too clear.

"Uh…yeah…fine…" Harry climbed into bed, getting comfortable as Malfoy walked around the room. He was like a predator, circling to try to figure out which bed was the best prey. His hawk eyes saw all impurities, Harry was sure. It made him cringe to think what he thought when he looked at Harry.

"By the way, we're going out Wednesday. I think the world has recovered enough for us to unleash our second date upon it."

Harry had been getting relaxed. Not likely, now. "What?" He managed to get out, after enough time had passed for it to be a tad uncomfortable. "Second date?"

"Was the first so painful?"

It was the best date he had ever had. But still… "No."

"Then why shouldn't I take my fiancé out for a night on the town? If I have to compete with some sordid Slytherin girl, I may as well dig the claws in a little." He snickered, coming closer to the bed.

Harry sighed, his unease flitting away as Malfoy shut all the curtains via wand. The darkness was more comfortable than the early evening light; the sun hadn't even set yet, and here he was, getting ready for bed. Some life he had.

"_What the hell are you doing?_" Harry jumped as his sheets moved, Malfoy climbing easily into bed. Into _his_ bed. _With _him. "I thought you were hunting for a bed!"

"And I chose one. This one."

"You can't sleep here!"

"Tch, you didn't think I would sleep in one of _those_ beds, did you? I hear stupid is contagious; who knows what I'll catch between _those_ sheets?"

Harry growled to himself, shifting away from the warmth of Malfoy. "This is _my_ bed."

"Learn to share." Malfoy mumbled, feigning sleep. There was _no possible way_ he was tired. "We've slept in the same bed before; what's the difference?"

The difference? They were friends then. Now? Harry didn't know what they were now. Still friends, but for how much longer when his traitorous body obviously wanted more?

Harry swallowed tightly, staring at the shadow form of Malfoy. _Was_ this just a game for him? Or was it something else? Shit, he didn't want him to get hurt.

Harry slowly sank back into the bed, pressing his back against Malfoy's and sighing at the warmth he found there. He could easily be content with the human heater, especially in winter. It was okay to be a little selfish, wasn't it? After all, it was for one night only. Nothing could happen in just one night.

Twenty minutes later, Malfoy rolled over, facing Harry instead. An arm came out and landed on his hand. At first Harry thought it was accidental touching, nothing of consequence. But then the thumb started stroking his hand.

"You didn't overreact." He mumbled, barely a whisper in the darkness. Harry's breath caught in his throat; his stomach clenched painfully. "It wasn't a stupid thing to do. It's not a stupid list. And you're definitely not stupid, Potty."

Harry blinked in the dark, trying to control his breathing. Slowly, he shifted closer to Malfoy, letting the arm hang over his shoulder and rub his back soothingly. He didn't mind that it was too hot, stifling hot. He didn't mind that he was sharing his bed with Draco Malfoy.

He sighed, relaxed, and let himself become infatuated with vanilla.

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	17. Jamie Lannister

**Hello everyone! I am SO SORRY for the long gap between chapters - My internet was cut off for the past month :( which meant no reading, no reviewing, and no uploading. However, I did a hell of a lot of writing! So here is a nice long chapter, the next will be up soon I promise! **

**Thank you for all my reviewers! I LOVE you all! XD**

**I do not own anything here, nor am I making a profit from this. It is purely to pass my time, and hopefully, interest other people. J.K. Rowling owns Harry Potter, not me.**

**Chapter seventeen - Jamie Lannister **

Harry sighed, shifting closer to the warmth. He had been awake for quite a while now, surprised that he had successfully slept through a night without the insistent nightmares. It seemed he had found his dream catcher.

He knew Malfoy wasn't asleep either; his thumb was slowly stroking his back, calming him down considerable after he woke to find himself staring at the chest of Draco Malfoy.

They had slept together again. Yes, to prove a point and win a bluff against some troublesome third years. But despite that, it was nice, and warm, and Harry had no inclination to break the peaceful silence.

He could easily get used to this.

And that was terrifying.

"I hope that's just your wand."

And the moment was broken.

Harry bolted upright, smacking his head against Malfoy's jaw in the process, a tangle of limbs and blankets. Bloody hell, he could never win, could he?

Cringing at the humiliation, he finally fell to the floor as his sheet gave way, scrambling up to run to the bathroom. He could hear Malfoy sniggering behind him, sore chin forgotten in the interest in embarrassing Harry.

"Whichever Slytherin bint that has caught your interest has no chance-"

"_It's morning, Malfoy!" _Harry yelled from the bathroom. Merlin, if only Malfoy knew.

It took them the better half of an hour to eventually drag themselves down to the breakfast hall, Harry with a flushed face and Malfoy chuckling every few minutes. He seemed to thrive on Harry's mortification. At least one of them was enjoying themselves this holiday.

"I don't know why you're so embarrassed, Potter. It's a perfectly natural-"

"Stop talking about it!" And even better, they had gained the attention of those Gryffindor girls from last night, talking rather animatedly to a wary looking McGonagall. Malfoy just sniggered again, dropping himself down, again, at the Gryffindor table.

He helped himself to some scrambled eggs, grinning the entire time. "Best morning after food." He laughed, eyes flicking to the empty plate before Harry. "You're never going to cross it off the list if you don't even try."

"I'm sorry; did you _see_ me last night?"

"I must confess I saw less then I wanted."

Harry threw a mock glare at Malfoy, his lips twitching. He always had a comment ready, didn't he? "Oh, I forgot; you arrived after the insistent vomiting. My stomach can't handle it."

"I didn't ask you to devour the entire plate." Malfoy replied evenly, eyes trained on Harry's face. "I asked you to try to complete a relatively easy concept on your list. You only have to _try_ everything, not _eat_ everything."

Why did he look like he expected Harry to turn into some deranged cookie monster? It wasn't as if he was starving himself; he was just eating moderately.

"Good boy." Malfoy crooned when Harry took a bite out of the scrambled eggs, smirking again as he flipped him off. "So, where do you want to go for our date?"

It was an effort to swallow and look unperturbed, with his heart leaping hopefully like that. "I thought you were joking."

"Not in the slightest. McGonagall has given us the all clear to spend a day away from the castle, and I thought-"

"Bullshit." Harry glanced at the stern headmistress, berating the two girls into minding their own businesses. "It's against school rules for students to leave while the school has a care of duty towards them; and I don't remember you and her being so amicable last time. Why the _hell_ would she bend the rules for you? I…I mean that in the nicest way." Harry added as the killer eyebrows were lifted, a clear danger sign.

"If you would allow me to finish." Malfoy drawled, head cocked to one side. "I fought valiantly for your rights; it was the single most degrading moment of my life."

"Uh-huh."

"Since we're both adults, the school can't exactly hold us prisoner. Free will and all that. I sprouted a little about the 'it's your last Christmas' shit and she gave way almost immediately." Harry went cold. He hadn't thought about it being his last Christmas. "Of course, we both know that it _isn't, _don't we, Potty?" Those steel daggers were drilling his face, threatening to stab his eyes out if he dared to look away. "Because you have your list, and if you dare to leave before it's completed adequately, I'll dig your rotting corpse up, find a way to bring you back to life, and kill you myself." And he said it all with a smile. "Besides, I have plans for next Christmas that evolve you, so I'm afraid you don't have a choice."

Harry didn't know why he was smiling at that; it wasn't nice in the slightest. "Such romance."

"Only for you. Eat."

Harry smirked, taking a bite of the bacon. He didn't really like it anymore, not after countless cooking fails when he was a kid. If it would keep Malfoy happy, he supposed he could do it.

.

.

.

"Are you _sure_ we're allowed to do this?" Harry asked for the fifth time, glancing around the corridor hopefully. "I mean, it's not even a Hogsmead weekend…why would she let us go exploring around the countryside, and not let us go down the hill? It doesn't make sense."

"Where's your sense of absurd Gryffindor bravery?" Malfoy drawled again, glancing at him with a smirk. "Did Granger have to drag you into the Chamber of Secrets unawares? She told you there would be candy, didn't she? Did you learn it was a lie after the giant chess set, or when you were nearly poisoned?"

"How do you even know about that?" Did he have spies _everywhere? _Hermione, Ron, and he had only told Dumbledore what had happened; how the hell would Malfoy know?

"I thought you were aware of the way secrets are kept in this school?"

Ah. Point made.

"I have to assume its true now, though. Did you _seriously _fight against a giant chess set? You can't even move a pawn without the remaining pieces grieving for it; how the _hell_ did you survive?"

"I can hardly be held accountable for anything that _did_ happen …I was _twelve_, Malfoy. _Twelve." _

"So twelve year old Potter had more balls then you? I would claim to be shocked…but I'm really not."

Harry elbowed Malfoy in the stomach, glancing around again for a teacher of some sort that would stop them and give them a detention. Come on! There had to be at least twenty students staying at Hogwarts this Christmas…where the hell were they? Why weren't they sounding the alarms that Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy were escaping?

"You don't have to look so excited." Malfoy drawled, smirking as Harry turned red. He didn't think he had been too obvious; it wasn't his fault Malfoy stalked him for a hobby.

"I just have a gut feeling that I'm going to regret this." Harry admitted, eyes narrowing as Malfoy smirked instead of sneered like he had expected him to. "And, _somehow_, your smug little snicker is anything but reassuring."

"You _love_ my smug little snicker." Merlin, he shouldn't smile like that. It was capable of making _anyone_ love his snicker; even Ron wouldn't be immune to its charms. "We're not doing anything illegal. We catch the Knight's Bus, pop into town, do whatever the hell we want, and pop back. Stop worrying so much."

"We could get expelled."

"And then we would spend the next year or two doing whatever the hell we wanted. I've wanted to go revisit France for months now. Maybe we could move onto my list?" Harry glanced at him, trying to seem indifferent. Inside, his chest was bloody leaping. A second list wasn't likely, but it the sheer thought of it was just _happy_. "That is, of course, considering we are going to get expelled. Which we're not. Because I've _asked_ McGonagall already, and she_ gave us _permission_._ Why can't you wrap that around your itty bitty head?"

"Because I can seem to imagine you _asking_ for anything."

And there was that smile again. Harry couldn't help but grin back.

It wasn't exactly sneaking around, but it still gave him thrills. One last hurrah at obliterating school rules…maybe they could break curfew or something along those lines?

They trotted down the main stairwell, hurrying to the doors. Malfoy even held one open for Harry, flourishing a mock bow. It was over the top, derisive, exaggerated…and just so…so Malfoy.

Footsteps caught his attention, and he turned halfway through the door. McGonagall had just entered the hall, mid conversation with Slughorn. It wouldn't hurt just to say thanks, would it? Or to just reaffirm permission with his own ears, instead of hearsay?

"Hey, I'll be back in a jiff."

"I'll give you ten milliseconds."

"Sure…wait, what?"

"And you're back. Let's go."

Harry found himself being dragged out into the snow by an impatient Malfoy, hand on his elbow guiding him down the path. As if he was an invalid. Infuriating as hell…but then Malfoy willingly had a hand on Harry's arm. _That_ couldn't possibly be bad, now could it?

They made it down the hill in silence. Malfoy concocting only god knew what on this supposed 'date', and Harry fighting the urge to scoop up a snowball and peg it at the insufferable blonde. If just to mess up his immaculate hair. Hair that, Harry reminded himself with a smirk, he spent a good half hour in the bathroom readying.

Harry couldn't really talk; he had spent just as long agonising on what to wear. He didn't have much that wasn't faded, holed, an heirloom of Dudley's, or _red._ And they all knew now how much Malfoy _cherished_ that colour.

"Don't even think about it."

"What?" Harry shrugged, trying to look as innocent as possible. There was _no possible way_ Malfoy knew what he was contemplating; despite the fact he was giving Harry the half-glare that parents gave mischievous children. It was obvious he didn't trust the guiltless smile as much as Harry had hoped.

"You know what." Why did he insist on being cryptic? That was something Harry would _love_ to learn; why Malfoy couldn't reply to an answer without some sort of scathing remark, sarcasm, or rhetorical question. Harry would willingly empty his vaults for that.

They descended the hill slowly, quietly. Harry couldn't help the snort as he found his disembowelled snowman army near the castle edge; that had possibly scarred Malfoy's Christmas. Good.

"What are you smirking at?"

"I think Flaky is waving a white flag." Harry was impressed that he managed to say it with a straight face. "I might allow him to return to base if he can apologize right. Hurry it up, you still coming?" He added, stifling a laugh at Malfoy's wary face. Let him debate Harry's sanity for a while; it would even the playing field while Harry tried to read his expressionless masks.

"You're such a tosser."

"That's why you love me." Harry sung, ducking as Malfoy threw a snowball at his head. It missed, smacking into a tree instead. Harry had scooped up his own in the next second, hurling it through the air before Malfoy had realised he had retaliated. The little prick; _how_ did he know what Harry had been thinking?

And thus, a snowball fight to conquer most began.

.

.

.

Draco smiled as he held open the door to the restaurant, bowing again for Potter and abso-fucking-lutely loving the way the tosser rolled his eyes, but grinned enthusiastically every time he did. So the Oblivious Wonder liked being pampered, did he? Surprise surprise.

It had taken significantly longer to arrive at Diagon Alley than he had suspected, with Potter being as stubborn as possible with refusing to admit defeat with the snowball war they had started. It took being tackled, with Draco straddling his stomach and restraining his arms until he finally nodded, even _then_ unable to say the simple words 'you win'.

By then, Potter had looked completely fuckable too, however. He was panting slightly, his hair was tussled and messy, his bloody cheeks were tinged pink;Draco had been ready to lean in, and snog the idiot senseless. Maybe _then_ he would stop this obliviousness in regard to the fact he evidently felt _something_ towards Draco.

He had decided against it, reminding himself that they were supposed to be escaping, and if McGonagall caught them she would have both their balls in a vice before they could blink. Well, maybe that was a slight exaggeration. But she wouldn't be pleased; either way, they were going to be lucky to get off without a suspension. Draco may have forgotten to tell Potter of McGonagall's 'over my dead body' phrase when pleading his case.

Oops.

Draco followed Potter to a table towards the back of the little restaurant, glancing at the patrons as they passed and sighing with relief. He wasn't the most appreciated person in the wizarding world at the moment, and he wasn't quite excited for yet another berating speech by half-bloods that loathed every drop of Malfoy essence in him. This wasn't exactly a place he would frequent either, but Potter seemed quite at home, dropping into the chair with a contented sigh. It was worth breaking the rules to see Potter smile like that.

Now, how to get him to agree to the next venue?

"Why do you look like you're scheming?"

Draco smiled at that, cocking his head to one side as though he was curious. He _was_ interested about how Potter seemed to know his many moods or emotions. "That's because I am." He answered honestly. Potter laughed however, shaking his head. Trust him to not believe the truth.

"So, Malfoy, you're the one that wanted to do this. You must have had a reason."

"Do I need a reason to want to spend time with my fiancé?"

"Maybe, you know, considering that you've dragged me across the country."

Smart Potter; who knew? "This diner has the best reviews in town." Draco smirked, scanning the menu and holding back a laugh. "Look; Yeti Spaghetti; the menu rhymes. How could I _not_ bring you here? They even have pencils so you can colour in while you wait for your nugget meal."

"Don't be cruel, Malfoy." But he was smiling. This meant he didn't mean it. He must be rubbing off on Potter…excellent.

"I'm never cruel; only brutally honest."

"Well, I'm about to give you a moment to be as brutally honest as you like." Oh, this was going to be good. "Can you perhaps clear up why Parkinson can't seem to be in a room with me without looking like she would rather gauge out her eyes?" Oh, _fantastic. _Great way to walk into a trap, Draco. Damn it, he didn't know whether to be proud Potter for trying to use his limited intelligence to force an answer from Draco, or annoyed that he just _wouldn't let this go. _

"What is it with your newfound obsession with Pansy?" Draco wondered aloud, resting his head on his hand, his elbow on the table. Potter didn't even look abashed. Damn it, he was on a date with _Draco_, not fucking Pansy! "Do you _have_ to bring her up at the most inopportune moments? I'm anticipating when you bring her up in bed."

Naturally, Potter blushed, glancing around the small diner to check who could potentially be listening. "Keep your voice down."

"_Yes! Oh, yes, right there, oh, _fuck_, Pansy…I mean, Draco!"_

_"_Shut it!" _There. _At least the power balance had correctly tilted in Draco's favour again; he would have felt bad for the embarrassing display, but it was just so entertaining to watch a mortified Potter squirm.

"Why are you so embarrassed, Harry?" Draco purred, chuckling to himself as Potter's entire face blazed red. "Said the wrong name in bed before?" Of course he hadn't. Draco had a horrifying suspect that Potter hadn't said _any _name in bed before, if the list was to be believed.

"Just shut up." Potter tried to glare at him…tried. Wait, what? He looked _amused_. When, and how, had that happened? Did Draco miss something? "Stop avoiding the question. It's really annoying me, the way she can't seem to stand me. I didn't do anything to her, did I?"

Great, Potter was being oblivious again. _Was_ there a house other than Slytherin that seemed to be able to read people correctly? That actually considered emotions and personality when deciding what was wrong with a friend? Apparently not.

So Draco just sat and listened to Potter prattle on about Pansy, despite the fact he had already heard the same complaints from her already, about Potter. If Draco didn't know better, he would have thought _she_ was the Slytherin tart Potter had his eyes on. Whoever it was had no chance in hell, if Draco got his way; he had dibs.

"For fucks sake, Harry, she doesn't hate you." Slytherin code of honour be damned; this conversation needed to stop; Pansy was monopolising Potter, and she wasn't even here. And _why_, were Potter's lips twitching again? He looked distinctively pleased…_why_?

"I _know_ she does, I just want to know _why-_"

"Because you know your psychotic fans are rapidly depleting and you're desperate to maintain some?"Okay, that was a bit too far. Potter's smile diminished rather quickly, a slight frown forming on his forehead. Great, that bloody guilt was back. Damn him.

"I'm only going to explain this once, and then I'm fairly certain that I'm going to have to obliviate your memory of this conversation so it doesn't get back to me. Pansy doesn't hate you. In fact, she thinks you're an okay guy. Not too charming, not too attractive." Well, he had to get him away from her somehow. Don't judge. "_That's_ the problem."

"I don't understand-"

Oh _thank Merlin_ for the awkward silence that poorly timed waitressing skills brings about. This was _not_ going the way he had hoped; he had to somehow bring this back to his initial purpose, and influence Potter properly. _How_?

It didn't help that the pretty brunette waitress was giving Potter smiles and sidewise glances. She obviously knew who he was, the stupid bint. She hadn't even turned around to walk away when Potter's attention was back on Draco.

"_What _does that even mean? I haven't been slightly nice this year; I'm chasing everyone away-"

"Exactly. You're a git, but you're not a douche. You're alright. Her words, not mine. Therefore, connect in your miniature brain how she would feel once she realised this, after she tried to hand you over to You-Know-Who, to save her own skin."

And it finally registered in Potter's eyes. Thank god.

"Now, enough about Pansy. I don't want to hear you _think_ her name again." Potter blinked, eyes positively shining with amusement. As though he didn't think Draco could read his thoughts like an opened book. Therefore, Draco was perfectly reasonable in whacking his arm. "Think it once more, Harry. I dare you."

Potter bloody grinned though. "I don't know what you're talking about, _Draco_." Fuck, he shouldn't be able to purr like that…oh, bugger.

"Sure you don't, _Potter._"

"No more first name basis?" That insufferable little toad. Damn him! It should have been _him_ to fall under the comfort of using given names first, not Draco! "Shame, I could get used to that. Made me feel special."

"Fuck off." Instead of being angered, however, Potter just chuckled again, rolling his eyes overdramatically. Maybe he was rubbing off too much on him. "If this is what I get for trying to take you out…"

"Come off it. You're not nearly as bad as you seem to believe."

"Oh, really?" This had to be good.

"I happen to have it on good regard that you're actually a cuddler." Potter grinned, "Evil people don't cuddle."

"You seem so sure of yourself."

"I am."

Draco couldn't help the smirk, gears clicking into place in his head. This was what he had been waiting for; that challenging stare that Potter seemed to throw when least expected. This could be used.

It was an effort to not seem too eager. Instead, Draco had to lean back on his chair; smirk held in place and slowly raised his eyebrows. He had to get Potter interested; he could never back down from a challenge, not from Draco. Even if he had initiated the atmosphere.

"Want to make a bet about that?" Draco asked, watching as Potter perked up, interested again. "Number twenty two; you can finally knock me off the list, if you think you can."

"What's it about?"

"A simple test to see who knows the most about the other." Because it was something Draco was absolutely going to win; there was no possibility of Potter stalking Draco in his spare moments.

"What are the stakes?" Trust Potter to think before diving into it; he was as unGryffindorish as possible, at the most inopportune moments. Draco had to be careful here.

"…I don't know what you want. If I win, however, I get to take you to a store, pick something out for you, you _have _to buy and wear it."

"That's it?"

"That's it." _Don't _smile, Draco. Don't give it away.

"I'm in. If I win, however, you have to call me 'Harry' for the rest of the day."

Not likely. "Fine. Well, go on. Impress me."

Draco watched smugly as Potter leaned back against his chair, pose mimicking his. This was going to be fun, either way. Let's see how big of a stalker Potter was.

"You're ambidextrous, but prefer to use your left hand." Apparently a big one.

"You prefer to sit in a cramped space, rather than an opened one." Potter blinked at that, surprised. Well, he didn't think Draco was going to go easy on him, did he?

"You have a sweet tooth; more than a normal person should have, in my opinion."

"Duly noted. You haven't taken your lunch potion today." Now, at _that_ did Potter look suspicious. And downright wary; Draco didn't think he could keep his smug smirk away for much longer; he was defiantly going to win this downright.

"How do you know I take a potion at lunch?" Potter asked, folding his arms defensively. "I make sure the bathroom is empty."

"Because I happen to be a god when it comes to potions, Potty. Well? Going to take it?"

"Not here."

"No one is interested in whatever you do or do not take."

"Until it's over the prophet. I'll take it later." His eyes narrowed, in all probability realising Draco wasn't about to play fair. "You don't like your father."

"No shit Sherlock."

"No, I mean you never liked him. When you boasted at school, and used his name; you were actually scared of him." Ouch.

"You don't miss Granger and Weasel nearly as much as you wished you missed them."

"You don't eat anything blue." Now how the _hell_ did he know that? "Which is quite weird, actually."

"There's nothing weird about it; blue isn't a normal colouring in food. Why would you eat it?" Draco huffed, glancing around the room for inspiration. He landed on the waitress, smirking. "You've never had sex."

"So?" Potter spluttered, rolling his own eyes. "Why are you smirking about that? It's not funny…stop smirking!"

Draco couldn't help it though; the way Potter looked absolutely mortified that he couldn't deny it. It had been a gamble, and thankfully it had paid off; Draco had thought the Weaselette had more stubbornness in her then to let Potter get away. Apparently not.

There was no reason not to smile, with that disclosure.

Potter huffed on his side of the table, forehead furrowing as he tried to think. Draco had oh so many more he could whip out; an endless plethora of Potter trivia that the Slytherins had collected over the years. How he didn't like bacon, but ate it regardless. He could mention the fact he wasn't a strong swimmer, proven by the way he had floundered through the lake during the triwizard tournament. Or the truth, that despite the bravado, he was actually more fragile than everyone seemed to believe.

"…you're guilty about what happened during the war." Draco snapped his eyes up at Potter's quiet murmur, looking distinctly guilty himself as he said it. "To the point you wear long sleeves despite the weather."

The weather had been cold; how could Boy Wonder possible know that?

"You haven't had a haircut, despite when you massacred your head a few weeks ago, in over five years."

"You wear a mask to hide your feelings."

"You actually hated Care of Magical Creatures class, despite how you would advertise it."

"You lowered your wand." Draco sighed, shutting his eyes to avoid Potter's blazing eyes. How the fucking _hell_ did he know that? No one alive knew of his weakest moment, and here Boy Wonder was, yelling it out in a diner? Draco had tried to keep the facts about nothing too serious; apparently Potter was using it as an excuse to get things off of his chest. Well, not on his watch; it was time he won.

Draco forced his eyes opened, tapping slightly as the waitress returned with their drinks, placing it down and spending too long giggling and throwing glances at Potter to acknowledge the awkward air surrounding the table. He had to wait until she had taken a few steps before he began.

"You were neglected as a kid. You are so far in denial that you refuse to even _say_, and maybe think, the big 'D' word. You're struggle with doing as much as possible in each day, because you're unhappily conscious of the time…your time. You don't know a single bloody thing about '_It'_. Your favourite colour is red; your favourite food is treacle tart, and you don't care about any subjects anymore, except for potions. You think you're more Slytherin than Gryffindor sometimes, which is why it annoyed you so much that Pansy was avoiding you, because you thought you could get along with my house. You're currently the cause of Myrtle looking as though she's died twice. You've cut everyone out under the guise of being selfish, but once again, it's your hero complex running amuck with your life. And, furthermore, you contemplate whether you should distance yourself from me, which I must admit, would result in me kicking your balls so hard up your arse that your first conquest in bed would be left wondering if you were a eunuch, or a hermaphrodite." Draco smiled, completing the look. Potter looked stunned, staring at him blankly. "Seems like I win, Potty. I pick something; you buy and wear it, despite what it is. Agreed?"

"You're not going to make me wear an onesie or something, are you?" He said quietly. Oh no. Contemplative Potter was _not_ a good sign; ever. He only decided to try to use his brain when he was about to settle on something incredibly stupid.

"Tch, I'm not that cruel." Potter nodded, but said nothing. Damn it. He was frowning slightly, looking particularly wary. Fantastic.

"I only know these things because I stalk you in my free time, Harry." There, that has his lips twitching again. "I had loads of fun when I had your invisibility cloak; you won't believe what I saw."

"Uh-huh."

"You think I'm joking, but I'm not." Draco grinned as Potter raised his eyebrows. It was such a Malfoy trait, one that the brunette could pull off effortlessly. No wonder the school was jealous of their relationship; maybe he was the reason Potty was turning Slytherin? "I got a good view of your tanned arse when you showered."

"Sure, Malfoy. Did you watch me sleeping too?"

"I cut locks of your hair, stuck it in my scrapbook. Stole your underwear. The works."

"That's horrifying."

"I try."But Potter still didn't look convinced. That strain of a smile was back. Great.

"Listen to me, Harry. It's not obvious. No one suspects a thing. The only reason I know, is because I'm infatuated with some green eyed git that I shadow between classes."

Draco smiled softly, watching as Potter shook his head and hopefully discarded all negative thought and chuckled to himself. It was wonderful, the fact that a sentence could completely change Potter's mood. He could only hope that when Draco revealed his scheme, that he wouldn't be too homicidal.

.

.

.

"Please tell me you're joking."

Draco smirked as he wandered around the store, eyes glinting as he tried to take his pick. This was too good. He had originally had mixed emotions over this, thinking it would be too cruel. Now, here in the store…He could be a Hufflepuff, and still be as cruel as possible, and not give the slightest inkling of care.

"You're not evil, you admitted it today. You won't do this."

"Actually, _you_ came upon that epiphany all by yourself. I simply neglected you correct you."

"Malfoy, please…I mean…a fucking tattoo?"

Draco grinned, turning to face the horrified brunette. He was standing just inside the door, arms crossed and a frown marring his face. He looked distinctively out of place, glancing towards the door and back hopefully. He was probably considering escaping. Silly boy.

"I never specified clothing." Draco reminded him, unable to keep of his glee off of his face. "Oh look, a leprechaun."He laughed as Potter groaned, sinking to the floor with his head hidden in his hands. Such overdramatics.

"Please, Malfoy, take pity." He mumbled, yanking his hair and sighing. It seemed he was resigning himself to his fate. Good. The quicker he realised, the quicker he was going to agree.

"And why would I do that?"

"Because you love me." Draco blinked at the comment, smirking at the too innocent expression Potter was putting on. The wide eyes were the clincher. "And you won't make me do anything I don't want, dear."

"I'm thinking facial."

Draco laughed as he crossed over to Potter, drawing him to his feet. "It's on your list, so you can't be completely against the idea."

"Yes, but I've always visualised it one centimetre tall. And on the sole of my foot. Somehow, I don't think that's what you're going to go for."

"Tch, you don't know me at all, do you Potty?" Draco grinned, dragging Potter around the room to stare at all the pictures littering the walls. They ranged from cute, to imbecilic, to the utterly grotesque. Potter's groaning got worse the more they looked.

"Wouldn't you like the unicorn? A pretty pink unicorn, flying over a smiley rainbow. And underneath it, three little words…I. Am. Gay."

"If you're going to ruin my life, a little imagination would be nice."

"I didn't tell you _where_ I was going to place it." Draco laughed as the realisation hit Potter's face, dodging a hit to the head. "No? Fine. We'll have to stick with ones misspelt."

"Why couldn't you make me wear a onesie?" Potter asked, eyes pleading to no avail. "Hell, I'd even wear my birthday suit around the castle rather than do this."

"I'm considering it." Draco conceded, fighting against the sudden torrent of image that flooded his mind. "However, that would mean I would have to share you with the hundreds, and I want you all to myself."

"Hundreds? There are barely twelve people staying this Christmas!"

"Even so." It was too many that could get a glimpse; all it would take was one photo, and Potter would have his own porn industry flourishing within a month. In a week, his stalkers would increase tenfold. Draco didn't have it in him to share with that many people. "Look at this one… A nice big snake…that would really piss off the Gryffindorks, wouldn't it?"

Potter merely hummed, snickering to himself as he stared at the wall. So he too had found the amusement with tattoo hunting. Good. As long as he forgot that Draco was picking one of these god awful pictures to permanently stain his skin. "Is that…a portrait of Dumbledore?"

"A bad one."

"…His eyes weren't brown."

"I strictly remember him having two of them, too." Draco concurred, wandering around instead. "Weird…Oh, look Potter, this would be _perfect _for you. A pygmy puff." What the hell? He was supposed to be scaring Potter, not making him laugh.

"I can match Ron." He snickered, eyes moving around the room oblivious to the mental discussion going on through Draco's head.

"What?" He eventually settled on, instead of the several choice places Weasel could shove his pygmy puff. Did every conversation _have_ to involve some other fucking student?

"There were rumours once, that we both had tattoos. His was a pygmy puff."

"I seem to recall something of that." Draco drawled, eyes drilling into Harry's back. "What was yours?"

"A dragon, if you can believe that."

Hmm. Interesting.

Draco wandered over to the other wall, humming to himself as Potter chuckled behind him. Here were some good ones. Who knew Potter had taste?

He let his eyes run through the selections, grinning to himself. This would make a statement, _and_ piss the Gryffindors off royally. It would even make the Slytherins double think before antagonising Potter again, like that idiot Claude had been doing. Of course, Draco would never pick it for himself. He wasn't one for tattoos; the one on his forearm still stung. It made him wince, to glance at it; hideous thing that it was. A reminder, nothing more. This could be a reminder for Potter too, maybe. Hopefully.

"I'll be generous, and hear your thoughts on positioning." He drawled, still flicking through the pages. He hadn't found the right…that one. He couldn't help the grin that spread across his face, eyes travelling over the design. That was the one.

"How charitable of you, my liege." Potter tried to speak dryly, but he didn't quite pull it off as shuffled nervously, avoiding eye contact altogether. "Sole of my foot."

"It has to be on display."

"Yours isn't." Ouch.

Draco stared at Potter, mask in place. And he would keep staring coldly until that twat realised and apologised, on his knees. Was he normally this cruel, or just an imbecile? As it was, it didn't take Potter long.

He winced himself almost as soon as the words were out of his mouth, running a hand nervously through his hair. "Shit, I didn't think. I'm sorry-"

"I've decided on that one." Draco snapped, face still blank. He pointed randomly, satisfied as he managed to point to a skull. If fate was brutal, Draco could be too. "Here." He placed a hand over _his_ tattoo, eyes glinting as Potter turned red and gritted his teeth. Trust a Gryffindor to ruin a perfectly good date.

Draco turned around as Potter opened his mouth again, effectively closing all potential apologies. Screw him and his big mouth; it was a stupid idea anyway. _This _is what happened when people got too excited about anything; it was obliterated, along with their feelings. Masks were the Malfoy way. He shouldn't have fucking _remembered_-

"I'm sorry, Draco. I didn't think." He refused to move as a hand rested on his forearm, despite the overpowering need to jerk away; it was leaning on his mark. Bloody obtuse Potter and his ridiculous Hero-complex.

They didn't speak for the next few minutes, barely glancing at the artist as he made his way from the backroom; Draco didn't even sneer at him as he jumped and swore at someone in his shop; He couldn't even _sneer_…what the hell was Potter doing to him?

Draco stared at the design, wanting to hate it now. He didn't. Damn it.

"Uh…can I help you?"

"Which one, Draco?" Oh, so he thought if he used his given name he would go easy on him, did he?

"This one." Damn him.

Draco turned to watch Potter, taking in his expression. To his surprise, his lips twitched in amusement.

"You're marking me." Draco quite liked the sound of that, despite the fact Potter was laughing as if it was funny. He thought Draco was joking, did he?

"Yes, I am."

Potter's grin faded slightly, as he turned to try to catch Draco's eye. He didn't let him.

"I have business elsewhere, however." He said quickly, grinning as Potter blinked in surprise again. The frown was still there, not quite ready to disappear. "So get it or don't get it. I will be back in about half an hour."

"You're leaving?" He looked terrified at that prospect, glancing at the oddity of the artist and back at Draco, almost pleadingly.

"It's Christmas eve, Potty. I have to give my mother my best wishes, at least. I will only be gone for half an hour." He had the route timed, and the plan ready. If nothing went wrong, he should be back in that time. Hopefully. "I can't make all your decisions for you; pick the place, the size, and by the time I'm back you should have just started."

Potter didn't look relieved; he looked downright disappointed. Then he smiled; fake.

"You can always come with me to the manor." Draco offered, pleading to Merlin that he wouldn't take him up to the offer; it was a bluff, please, oh for the love of god _please_ say no!

"It's fine, say hi to your mum for me."

Tch, as if he would ever call his mother, 'mum'.

"If you get anything other than that tattoo, I'll feed you your own testicles." Draco warned before leaving the shop, apparating immediately. He had to hurry; fuck it, he _wanted_ to be there when Potter got the tattoo; he knew how much it would hurt, and being alone was never fun.

But this was for Potter's own good; hopefully it didn't take long.

Draco set out at a run.

.

.

.

Dudley ensured he didn't make eye contact with his father as he crossed the room, sitting on the couch as far away from the beefy man as possible. He was angry with his dad and not about to forgive him anytime soon; but, being angry didn't mean he had to miss out on his favourite television series, which was starting within the next ten minutes. He would enjoy the show, and show his dad disdain from afar; a good plan. Solid.

A tad tricky in reality, what with the glances and throat clearing that happened every few seconds. If his dad did it in the middle of the show, he had better watch out. Nobody ruined Game of Thrones for Dudley; _nobody_. Dudley considered himself a bit of a Jamie Lannister, actually; good looks, clever wit, and he got all the girls. He definitely had a strong resemblance. That, and he would embrace his smelting stick like a sword if he had to.

"So, Dudders…what did you get up to in school today?" Dudley sighed, staring at the pizza advert adamantly. He had been ignoring them all week. Aparantly avoiding the problem wasn't going to help. Maybe it was time to change tactics? If Dad wanted to talk, then they would talk.

"We started a new topic." Dudley eventually replied, still refusing to look at his dad. He saw him smile in the corner of his eye, though, happy that communication was open again. It was sad, really. That he was so hurt over Dudley being rebellious for the first time in eighteen years. Sure, he had never been a role model. He hadn't received great grades, he hadn't made the best of friends when he was younger, and had made a _lot_ of people's lives a living misery…including his cousin's.

But he always stayed a true Dursley. As non-freakish as possible. A normal kid.

He thought it was about time that changed.

"That's good! See, it was the iffy electives you picked last year, that's why you didn't pass. That school did absolutely nothing for you, Dudders, absolutely nothing! You'll show them that Dursley's can't be held back!" The inspirational pep talked dimmed a little here, with a bit of awkward throat clearing. "So…uh, what topic did you learn about? Anything interesting?"

"Cancer." Finally Dudley turned to stare at his dad, frowning as Vernon Dursley turned bright red. "We learnt about cancer."

"S-so, uh…learning about astronomy-?"

"_Don't_ be a dickhead."

"Dudley, we don't even know if that's what-"

"That's the word Harry used to describe it; like cancer, he said. Inoperable."

"It doesn't even matter what-"

"_It should matter! _He's your nephew! He's my cousin! That seems like a good enough reason for it to matter, Dad!" Dudley swore at himself, clenching his fists. He hadn't meant to yell; the neighbours might hear.

"Shh! The neighbours might hear-!"

"Who cares if the neighbours hear!?" Well…who did care? Certainly not Dudley. Especially if his dad cared.

He shoved himself from the chair, making it in the third try. He couldn't watch Game of Thrones, not while he was irritated like this. He couldn't watch it in the same room as his father; the man who just didn't care about the boy that had lived with them for seventeen years. Would he care about Dudley, if _he_ got cancer? He hoped so.

"Where are you going, Dudders? You haven't eaten here in a week, your mother is getting-"

"I'm not eating here."

Dudley was actually quite proud of himself as he walked from the room, holding his ground. It was difficult, deliberately hurting his parents like this. Even harder to relinquish dinner; he never thought he would see the day, but McDonalds was getting old.

His parents deserved it. Jesus, _Harry_ deserved better than them. Didn't people with cancer have treatment? And weren't their relatives allowed to go and sit with them or something?

Dudley pursed his lips, thinking hard; something he actively tried to avoid. He still hadn't made it up to Harry for being a little shit sometimes, when they were kids. Maybe he could now?

He opened the door, blinking at the person already occupying the step. Who the hell was this? He looked like he was Dudley's age, but he was sure he had never seen him before; he was obviously made of money, people Dudley didn't really associate with.

"Is Harry Potter in?" The boy asked, voice cold. The boy's chin was raised, and though Dudley was a good head taller than him, it seemed as though he was looking down on him. Who looked down on a Dursley?

And why the hell would he come to find Harry here? Didn't he usually stay at the school, or…well, Dudley didn't really know what he did during the holidays. He vowed to find out, though.

"He's at school."

"Who are you?"

Who _was_ this prat? "His cousin." Dudley drew himself up full height, adopting a sneer on his face that the blonde rolled his eyes at. "Who the fuck are you?"

It wasn't until Dudley blinked, that found himself pressed against the hallway wall, a hand around his throat and a stick pressed up against his nose that he made the connection. Shit.

.

.

.

Harry almost jumped as the door to the shop banged open, about to ruin his tattoo. When he saw the blonde head though, and the panting boy, he couldn't help the grin. He had come back, sprinting, from the looks of it.

"How was your mum?"

"_Mother_…was fine." He panted, leaning down and using his knees for support. He waved one hand half-heartedly. "She says…Merry….Christmas…"

Who would have known that a Malfoy could look so dishevelled in public?

"You look like shit." Harry remarked, chuckling as Malfoy threw him a mock glare. It seemed he had forgotten about being angry at Harry's obviously cruel remark. Thank Merlin; Harry wouldn't have been able to sit here alone much longer. Malfoy had neglected to tell him how much it stung.

It turns out wizard tattoos were different to the muggle version. For one, there was no needle. Instead, it was a range of seemingly complicated spells that Harry was dubious this wizard knew correctly, and the tip of the wand was used to make the design. It still hurt, however. It was as if they were branding his skin, and by wizarding standards, he wasn't sure if they weren't.

He couldn't believe he had been roped into this; if not for Malfoy, he definitely wouldn't have had the guts.

Malfoy edged over, blinking at where Harry had decided to put it. Harry couldn't quite meet his gaze; yes, it was a stupid place. He didn't care.

"That's going to be difficult to cover."

"I'll use glamours or something."

Malfoy pulled up the chair, grabbing Harry's hand as if nonchalant. Harry couldn't stop the warm feeling fluttering down his stomach.

.

.

.

Harry laughed as Malfoy shoved him through the door, ignoring his throbbing arm. He had done it; he had gotten a tattoo. Fuck, he had gotten a tattoo!

"She was salivating over you."

"That's horrifying."

"It's true, dribble down her chin. I saw it. She was desperate for some attention from the Chosen One."

"Unluckily for her, I'm into blondes." Harry found himself chuckling, wondering at himself. Was he…_flirting_ with Malfoy? Well, his tattoo was basically a mark of ownership; he guessed he could do whatever the hell he wanted with the blonde now.

"Shit."

Harry glanced around at the curse, eyes landing on a furious McGonagall that was storming down the staircase; she looked murderous…and her sight was set on them.

Did they break the curfew she had set?

Harry turned to Malfoy, taking in how that cocky little smirk made an appearance. Back to the fire breathing McGonagall. Malfoy looking distinctively pleased. And it clicked.

"…You told me we had permission!"

Harry could have punched him as he shrugged, indifferent. He looked _smug._ "I also didn't expect us to get caught."

Harry could have laughed at that, if not for the Headmistress storming across the hall.

"Think she would appreciate your new body art?" Malfoy whispered, smirking as Harry quickly hid his arm behind his back. It was bandaged, and hidden by the sweater…but still remarkably bulky for an arm.

"Not as much as me." Harry managed to whisper back, just before she reached them. "Not nearly." Bold? Fuck yes.

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_13. Get a tattoo_


	18. Half-Blood?

**I do not own anything here, nor am I making a profit from this. It is purely to pass my time, and hopefully, interest other people. J.K. Rowling owns Harry Potter, not me.**

**Thank you so much for all your reviews! I love all my reviewers, you always make my day :) Well, here is quite a long chapter, because I needed it to be perfect. :) And, I was promised a chocolate covered smirking Draco feeding me chocolate éclairs if I updated soon, so here you go! :P**

**By the way, I apologise if anyone doesn't like Drarry, because this chapter instigates that. It's rated M for a reason folks lol. Hope this piques some interest, and I hope I don't lose too many reviewers :) Enjoy! **

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**Chapter Eighteen – Half-blood?**

Harry blinked as he stared at the grey dragon that curled around his forearm, studying the rawness around the new tattoo. His skin was pink and sore, but according to Malfoy, that would be gone in a few days. The dragon, however, was permanent.

He stretched slightly in his bed, lifting his arm to the sunlight and watching in awe as some of the scales glittered and shone; apparently wizarding tattoos were different from the muggle ones. It came as a shock, despite the fact it should have been obvious. His dragon gleamed in sunlight, shifting slightly as if basking in the light. Malfoy had insisted on a quite complicated charm that would make it move, disregarding the overly expensive price. True to his word, it had been worth it. The dragon shifted, blinked, and Harry swore he saw inked smoke drift from its snout at one point. It was a shame that he had to keep it hidden, lest McGonagall decide to murder him. Such a beautiful creature shouldn't be hidden.

Harry groaned to himself, chuckling as the dragon blinked at him again, deep silver eyes calculating.

Fuck, Draco Malfoy had successfully marked him, with a portrait of himself.

And Harry liked it.

Damn it.

Harry rolled over, pushing himself from his bed. He sighed as he fumbled for the various potions, a new anti-infection one thrown into the mix. No wonder he didn't feel like breakfast, if he had to swallow four potions every morning; he was already full by the time he reached the hall.

He dressed slowly, eyes drifting around the empty room. This was his last Christmas.

He ignored the clenching in his chest. Instead, his eyes landed on a small pile of…presents? He blinked. He wasn't expecting any presents this year, considering. He didn't know if the fact that someone still cared enough to send him something gave him a happy feeling or a sad one; he would be hurting them, when he left.

Harry wiped away a tear, throat tight.

He had been sent a Weasley jumper.

.

.

.

Harry wondered down to the hall for breakfast, smiling at the warmth of his new maroon sweater. If Malfoy said a single word about it, Harry wouldn't hesitate to pull out his wand and curse him into oblivion. He couldn't ruin today…wouldn't…hopefully.

Harry caught sight of him at Gryffindor table and headed over, like usual. Which was odd in itself.

Other than a raise of the eyebrows and a slight sneer on his face, he didn't say a word. His eyes did, however, drift immediately to Harry's forearm, a smile flashing across his face. Though he hadn't said anything about it, it was clear that he liked the fact Harry chose to put the tattoo where Malfoy's Dark Mark was; knowing the blonde, he probably thought it a proclamation that he was god, or something close to it.

Harry didn't have the heart to tell him it was just easy to hide there.

Harry sat down, piling food up automatically. He knew Malfoy would pester him if he didn't eat; it was easier to just humour him.

"How are you sitting?" Malfoy remarked dryly, eyes glinting with amusement.

"What do you mean?"

"Oh, you know, what with the new arsehole McGonagall ripped out of you yesterday."

Harry spluttered, rolling his eyes. "Do you _have_ to be so crude?"

"Don't be a prude." The blonde snapped back immediately, grinning.

"I'll start a feud." Harry warned, laughing. They were such idiots sometimes; it was hard to believe they were eighth years. Graduating eighth years. God help the world. "She's watching us."

"And grinding her teeth down to a stub." Malfoy concurred, smirking again. "I don't understand why. I did ask."

Harry had listened to this yesterday; he didn't really feel like a repeat. According to McGonagall, Malfoy didn't understand the meaning of the phrase, 'Over My Dead Body'. Malfoy's muttered reply was that she was so old, that how was he supposed to know she had survived another night?

They had left the office with heavy warnings, a loss of fifty house points each, and a week's worth of detentions. Harry thought it could have gone a lot worse, but Malfoy had complained bitterly. At least they were still allowed to see one another. She had threatened to separate them for the rest of the year, and that would have broken Harry. He needed Malfoy now, as regrettable as that was.

Fuck, he wanted to be with Malfoy more than he should. And that was terrifying.

.

.

.

"Please take a seat, Mister Potter."

Harry sighed as he slumped into the chair before McGonagall's desk, taking in the portraits around the room. Dumbledore was there, sleeping in his frame and snoring slightly. He looked as though he was pretending though, what with the way he deliberately squeezed one eye open and glanced around the room every few minutes, making Harry grin. He was trying to cheer Harry up, even in death…Dumbledore really was the best Headmaster Hogwarts had ever had.

"Have a biscuit." Harry took a handful of offered scotch fingers, knowing by now that he didn't really have a choice when McGonagall offered. He also knew this would be a tense conversation; the biscuits always came out for difficult situations.

"How are you, Harry?"

"Fine." He muttered, struggling to meet her eyes. It was hard to look at someone who saw you as a walking corpse. Someone who had yelled herself hoarse talking to him merely hours ago.

"I have two matters to clear up with you." Harry braced himself, groaning inwardly. He hadn't told her where they went yesterday, and he bloody hell wasn't going to today!

He knew what Slytherin did with their snitches.

"First, a slight difficulty has been found in the diagnostic Tuesday night." She frowned at the words, as Harry's heart clenched. No. Not already. Four months wasn't enough. He hadn't done enough! "The first signs of your magic becoming more aggressive have been found. It will progressively become difficult to manage, from here on out." From here on out? Hadn't it been aggressive enough? "However, Madam Pomfrey agrees that with the magic stabilizing potions, and with your abstinence of magic, it should be perfectly manageable."

"Okay…so how do we stop it getting worse?" Harry found himself asking the first question about his illness since he had contracted it. He hadn't wanted to know before now…now…

McGonagall just gave him a pitying look, forcing herself to look away. "You should know that there isn't any research on this disease, Harry. There have only been a few wizards in _history_ that have had it, and therefore there is limited-"

"Yeah, but I have it now, don't I?" Harry interrupted, ignoring the clenching in his stomach. He felt sick. "Why aren't I being jabbed with needles and experimented on and stuff? Couldn't they do the research with me?"

"…We don't know how long it will…" She couldn't finish the sentence. She didn't have to. They didn't know how long it would remain 'placid'.

"Yeah, I get all that, but why aren't they researching now? Aren't there any experimental treatments? There should be, I mean, if not many people get it, you would think that they would be having a field day trying to cure me…well, the doctors at least. No one knows, yet, thank god…" He stopped as she wiped her eye, blatantly avoiding eye contact. Why was she crying? _HE _should be the one crying, not her! It wasn't her sitting there without treatment!

They sat in silence for a while, neither knowing exactly what to say. Harry just wanted _something _to be done…he was tired of the diagnostics every week. What was the point of knowing when something was going wrong, if they couldn't _stop_ it from going wrong?

"Harry…there is no way to contain magic." She eventually said quietly, meeting his eyes determinedly. "That we know."

Oh. His illness was imbedded in his magic.

Harry gritted his teeth angrily, clenching his fists into balls. _This_ was why he didn't want to know anything about it; you got excited, and you would be kicked until you weren't a dog anymore, but a bit of bloody mush on the ground. He was content in not knowing…why had he asked? Why couldn't he stick to his ignorance?

His tattoo burned on his arm, heavy.

That was why.

"What…what was the second piece of news?"

"Harry, you don't have to get worried yet. The first signs are appearing, it doesn't mean your magic will become aggressive yet. You could have weeks, or months, left until-"

"Please." Harry muttered, not looking at her. His biscuit had crumbled in his hand. "What's the second piece of news?"

She eyed him heavily for a moment, eyes judging if he was strong enough. For whatever was worse than that, he didn't know. God, did he _want_ to know? Eventually she gave in; in all probability, because she didn't like sitting in a room with a dead boy.

She passed him a letter.

It was addressed to her.

Wordlessly, he read it.

_Dear Headmaster Dumblebore,_

_Hello. Pleased to make your acquaintance again. Hopefully, under nicer circumstances. Or maybe not, depending how this letter is about my cousin. Harry told me he was sick, and I am not sure what to do about it. We never got along, because he was a prat, and I was a git, but I want to try to be better. I want to visit him when he is in chemotherapy. I know he is a wizard, and I am not, but you seem like a good guy that doesn't care about things like that. Please reply. Sincerely, Dudley Dursely. _

What. The. Fuck?

Harry burst into laughter, holding his hand to his mouth. His cousin was a complete and utter moron. He had referred to 'Dumblebore' as a 'good guy'. He had actually written 'prat' and 'git' into a letter to one of the most powerful _dead_ wizards alive. He thought Harry had cancer, and therefore had chemotherapy. And he very obviously didn't know how to write a decent letter.

Harry couldn't stop laughing.

He couldn't stop crying either. 

_._

_._

_._

Harry hurried to the library, eyes red rimmed and sore. Fucking Dudley and his change of heart. He was supposed to stay neutral; unsure whether to be friendly or loathe Harry's guts. When the hell had he developed a conscience?

He jumped as Malfoy appeared at his side from nowhere, eyes glinting as he took everything in. He glanced at Harry, and drifted beside him silently. Not a word was uttered, and Harry doubted one would. _Malfoy_ was neutral, allowing Harry to say or do anything he wanted. If he had wanted to punch the blonde at that moment, he probably would let him. Which meant he was anything _but _neutral!

Harry's heart thumped when their shoulders brushed, twanging painfully.

Why couldn't they have left Harry to die alone?

.

.

.

Harry picked at his food, gritting his teeth until they stung. He didn't want to eat; it made him throw up after, most days. Why had a selfish blonde even tried to convince him to try to complete that point on the list? It was stupid; he got no satisfaction from it, except that time he had vomited over Malfoy's new shoes. _That_ had been very amusing.

Harry growled to himself, throwing glares at the Slytherin table. As soon as the green roommates had returned, Malfoy had disregarded Harry like a scrap of old clothing, running to find the more expensive dress robe. Prick.

It wasn't as if he was jealous though. Hell no. Why would he be jealous of a blonde prick and his cronies, jeering and laughing loudly across the hall? It didn't look like they were having fun. It didn't look as if they were happy students, loyal, or even amusing. They were all gits in his eyes. All of them.

Tch, and Malfoy thought Parkinson monopolized Harry's attention? She was basically sitting in his lap! He had never noticed her before, not really, but now she had his attention; he made sure to save his angriest glares at her, despite the fact she had caught him at it twice. He wasn't embarrassed, not in the slightest. Hell, he didn't have the time to be embarrassed. He didn't regret it for a moment.

And the fact Malfoy refused to look over even once was just plain rude! Yes, Harry had to admit he hadn't been the happiest the past few days. He had been slightly dull, in reading, studying, and avoiding the blonde's pointed stares. But that didn't mean he had to ignore Harry! The git. Utter git.

Harry snatched up a piece of paper and scribble on it quickly, waiting for the morning post to arrive. He couldn't ignore him forever.

In better news, his arm had stopped stinging. In fact, his tattoo looked marvellous now that it was healed. He had woken up this morning to find ink fire splashed across his arm, the dragon firebreathing. It was stunning, the way it flickered. Defiantly a good choice, going with the Draco.

Uh, with the dragon.

Harry didn't have time to face-palm, as post had decided to fly in that moment. He was busy trying to snag an owl to borrow.

Tch, he wasn't jealous at all.

Harry watched nervously as the owl landed in front of Draco…Malfoy… snipping his wrist as he didn't untie the letter immediately. Harry had chosen a good owl; he had promised it a treat if it bit the blonde, and it didn't seem to care that it had been trained to not attack wizards. Good.

Malfoy blinked at the owl in surprise, a frown on his face.

His eyes barely flicked over it before he was staring at Harry, that brilliant smile across his face, eyes glinting challengingly. He could have started singing, and it would have surprised everyone less than to see him smile.

The Slytherins glanced between them both, Parkinson rolling her eyes as she snatched the letter away from Malfoy, reading it aloud. Cow.

At that, they _all_ turned to stare at Harry. Who promptly went back to his meal. Malfoy was one thing, Parkinson another. Having the majority of Slytherin house watching you was unnerving as hell.

He nibbled on some omelette, humming to himself at the sweet taste. He would miss Hogwarts food, that was for sure.

He smirked, however, as someone wrapped their arms around his shoulders. Someone smelling strongly of vanilla. It was an effort not to turn around, and keep eating as nonchalant as he could.

"Really, Malfoy, no subtlety at all." He remarked, choking as a deep voice answered him.

"Sure it's Draco?" _Now_ he jumped, jerking his head around at whichever freak had their arms around his…fuck them all.

Zabini was chuckling from a few feet away, shaking his head in amusement. Draco _was_ the one leaning on Harry…the bastard. He should have suspected some sort of joke, coming from Slytherins.

"So easily fooled; and you want to play with the big boys?" Draco drawled, letting go and sitting at the Gryffindor table like he had all holiday. Zabini joined him. As if it was the simplest thing.

"You're not as big as you think you are." Was all he answered. It was enough, apparently, as Zabini chuckled again, eyes glinting with amusement.

"You're okay, Potty." Then he yelped as Draco threw his wand towards him haphazardly. They exchanged exasperated stares before turning back to Harry. As if that wasn't weird at all.

Harry stared at the both of them, eyebrows raised as he waited for an answer to the obvious hexing. None of forthcoming, however, as Draco turned to Harry, eyes mock innocent. Sure, like a first year would believe those eyes.

"I'm all for you playing, truly I am-"

"_But?"_

_"But_…are you allowed?" Harry frowned, shaking his head softly. What the hell was he talking about? Of course they wouldn't be allowed to play this game; it involved drinking in a school. It wasn't as if he was about to ask permission from the Headmistress.

"I'm overage, I own a house, I have control of my own vaults…I think I may be able to have one drink."

"I meant, are you allowed?" Oh. Harry rolled his eyes, glancing at a confused looking Zabini and withholding a groan. Could he seem any more secretive?

"Drop it." He said quietly, meeting Draco's eyes, almost pleadingly. God, he was so weak. "Nothing will happen." It was one drink. They had drunk that on their first date, and then apparated. Drinking in the safety of the school couldn't hurt.

"You can't know-"

"Draco, nothing will happen."

And surprisingly, he sighed, conceding the point and smirking softly. "I'm not giving you CPR if you're wrong."

"Yes, you will." Harry smirked, chuckling as Draco went pink and rolled his eyes, a smile edging onto his face.

"He's got you there, _Draco_." Zabini crooned, laughing as the blonde reached over to swat at him. Shit. When did he stop calling Malfoy by his surname? Bloody hell, this is what happened when you were too comfortable with someone. Zabini turned to Harry, smirking and holding out a hand. "I don't believe we've ever met; I mean, I've heard _every single insistent _complaint against you, and all the plots, and the whinging, but…"

"I do _not _whinge!"

"You never bothered to learn my name?" Harry asked smirking, thinking of the stupidity of his question. Please. Every child in the wizarding world, and quite a few in the muggle, knew his name. They might not know why he was famous, but they knew him. Somehow.

"Blaise Zabini."

"…Harry?" This was one of the weirdest conversations he had ever had, considering he was introducing himself to a boy he had schooled with for eight years.

"Enough Blaise, stop stealing him." _Malfoy_ cut in, standing up and practically jerking Zabini off of the chair, sending him a glare that sent him heading back to the Slytherin table with his hands in surrender. Odd. "We'll play tonight, then. Slytherin Common room."

"It's a date." Harry grinned, turning back to his breakfast, despite the fact he could feel Malfoy staring at him for a few more minutes. Hell, he could still smell vanilla.

Take that, Parkinson.

No, he was defiantly not jealous.

.

.

.

Harry had been practically jumping all day. Another check to be crossed off of his list tonight. He was on a role; a good thing, considering his magic had decided to play the douche and be 'aggressive'…whatever the hell that meant.

He didn't know why, but he felt guilty at not telling Malfoy about that. But, he didn't have to tell him _everything_, did he? If he did, he would turn and run, despite the blatant flirting that had somehow sprung up between the two.

At ten on the dot, he was knocking on the Slytherin entrance, licking his lip nervously. He had snagged a bottle of vodka from Ron's trunk when he hadn't been looking, currently tucked under one hand. It was nerve-wracking, going into the snake den; he had already had a sip to try to calm his stress. It hadn't helped.

The wall pulled backwards, a portly second year peering out. He blinked as he saw Harry, his blue eyes judging him curiously before stepping backwards, jerking with his neck to hurry inside. He hadn't expected a warm welcome, but no anger seemed odd.

The common room was exactly as he remembered it, dark with one wall looking into the depths of the great lake. He didn't know how they didn't find it terrifying, with the various creatures drifting in and out of the window. If they could see the giant squid, it most definitely could see them.

The various students lifted their heads to glance at him, but that was it. They went back to their own business, hardly anyone turning for a second look. Gryffindor would be up in arms at the moment, and Slytherin just shrugged.

"They're down there." A first year pointed, a grimace crossing his face in what Harry assumed was a sneer. It was a cute failure, either way. Grinning to himself, Harry crossed to room, ruffling the hair of the kid and chuckling at his indignant squeak when he did. When you were in the snake lair, you had to pretend to be a snake, or be bitten.

Knowing how vicious Malfoy could be, an entire flock of Slytherins would be beyond fatal.

He climbed down the stairs, deeper into the darkness. It got progressively darker the further he went, his shadow became lost in the darkness; which was bloody eerie.

Finally, he found a door that led to the dormitory, and pushed the heavy wood open, blinking at the sudden light. It replica of Gryffindor room, except in silvers, blacks and greens. And, instead of windows, they had a giant wall that faced into the lake. It was beyond creepy.

"Potty." Malfoy drawled, smiling as though he hadn't expected him to come after all. Of course he would have; he wasn't allowed to regret anything anymore. He didn't have the time.

"Hello." Harry said awkwardly, making his way into the room and towards Malfoy; he felt safer over there. Parkinson was leaning against one of the bedposts, her eyes drilling into Harry; she did not look pleased. Zabini smirked, but he was laying upside down, his head hanging off of the bed as he tried to drink without spilling a drink. Nott was there too, head cocked to one side as he judged Harry, like the kid earlier had. He would have thought they were related, the way they both held themselves. And last, there was Goyle. The look on his face made Parkinson look like a cheering fangirl.

He hurried to sit near Malfoy, perching awkwardly on the edge of his bed. A heavy tension filled the air; it felt like a truce. One bad word, or a joke that was taken the wrong way, and it would be shattered. Everyone felt the tension, and no one was ready to break it.

Except Malfoy.

"So, are you a wizard, or a mudblood?" He drawled, folding his legs so he was resting on one hand on his bed, eyeing Harry like a bird would its prey. He sipped his alcohol comfortably, as if he hadn't uttered a curse, as if he didn't care. He probably didn't.

"…Uh…halfblood." Harry felt his face heat up as they all snickered. Zabini rolled over to face the right way, shaking his head slowly. He didn't think Harry could do it? He would show them that he had guts…or cunning, or whatever strength you needed to win this game.

Malfoy didn't laugh, just smirked. He didn't break eye contact with Harry. "You can either explain why you were talking about fucking me, to the Weasel," He said clearly, eyes glinting with amusement. The other Slytherins snickered again, snorting into their drinks. "Or, you can sneak into the kitchens and get a few more bottles of firewhiskey for us."

"So that's how we play?" Harry grinned, excitement growing. It would be difficult, to convince the House-Elves to give up a banned drink.

"That's how we play." Malfoy agreed, smirking.

"Time limit?"

"Ten minutes should do; you're a beginner."

Harry rolled his eyes, smirking. "See you in ten minutes."

The Slytherins were chuckling at the dare, obviously thinking it was impossible. They were defiantly talking about him right now; maybe Malfoy was still convincing them to let him play? Either way, ten minutes was not a lot of time.

Harry sprinted from the room, grinning. He hadn't run this fast in months; he couldn't turn around corners so he had to let himself hit them slightly before turning; he must look like an idiot! However, he was in a game with Slytherins; he had to prove his worth, which meant returning within that ten minutes. Every second counted.

He panted slightly, tickling the pear and falling into the kitchen. His heart was pumping so much that he could barely breathe, let alone hear. The pumping was deafening. "Hello? Anyone here?" He called out, having to repeat it twice because he only managed to gasp the first time.

A few seconds of panicking and taking a step towards the kitchens led Harry to almost fall over the elf that popped up beside him. It blinked up at him, bat ears swinging as it jumped up and down in excitement.

"Oh, Mister Harry Potter Sir, it _is_ you Mister Harry Potter! It is late, Sir. What can Snuffy do for you, Sir?" Harry sank into a chair, panting still. He could barely hear her, over his chest thumping.

"Well, you see…" Harry pulled at his sleeves, glancing around for inspiration. He was uneasy about lying to an elf…maybe he could tell her the truth? Would it hurt? "I…I was wondering if you could help me with something."

"Anything for Harry Potter, Sir!"

"Great. I was…wondering if you could perhaps get me a few bottles of firewhiskey?"

The change was instantaneous; the elf blinked, drooping her ears and frowning. She looked like she was pouting, if an elf could pout. "But Sir, you is young, and I am not allowed to be giving alcohol to students, Sir. It is bad! Very bad!"

"I know that, Snuffy, but…uh…"God, Harry was the worst sort of person for doing this. Hating himself, he steadied his thoughts; half the time was gone already. He had to hurry. "You see…I'm sick. It's…uh…seccor…succorbentis? Oh, no, it's fine, really!"

The elf hiccupped, then burst into sobs. Loud sobs.

"I know, it's bad. Not good at all. It's just…this is-"

"But…but you is Dobby's favourite person, Mister Harry Potter Sir! Dobby tell us all of your goodness. Dobby tell all of us to look after you…and we failed!" She sobbed harder, oblivious to the wide eyed stare Harry was giving her. He slowly reached forwards and patted her back gingerly, conscious of the time and her feelings.

"I…you didn't fail. I'm fine, I'm happy. I would be happier, though, with some firewhiskey." He managed to say it without sounding like the douche he now considered himself. "It's my last chance to have some fun with my mates." If Slytherins were considered 'mates'. "Firewhiskey is the only thing I haven't really had time to try, and…"

The elf just nodded, sniffing and scurrying to a cupboard. She unlocked it with a click, bringing back two bottles that were almost as big as she. It was a shock she could carry it. She handed it over, a wobbly smile across her face. Then, she held up a vile. "Anti-hangover, Sir. For you and your friends." She said, blinking again. "…If you need more, Snuffy will get it."

"Nah, this is enough. It's perfect, actually. Thank you, Snuffy." He said sincerely, glancing at the clock on the wall. Only three minutes to get back. "And…thanks for being a good friend to Dobby."

Her lip was quivering again, so Harry made a hasty retreat, hurrying from the room. He started his mad sprint back to the room, urging himself fast with each turn. This was impossible! His side had a stitch already, and he was heaving, but never seemed to get enough air into his lungs.

He banged on the door again, gasping and laughing as a bewildered Slytherin first year let him in. He was making it…maybe. Either way, the running was fun. He was going to beat the Slytherins at their own game! He was _determined _to be dubbed 'pureblood' by their standards…even if just for a night.

He stumbled into the room, panting, and almost falling. It was not the least bit graceful, defiantly not something of pureblood standards. He placed both bottles next to Malfoy, grinning as he blinked in surprise. "Anything…else?" He asked, gasping for breath.

"How the fuck did you get into the kitchen, and why the fuck would they give you firewhiskey?" Nott demanded, sitting up and frowning as though he had cheated. Come off it, they had to know it took at least a half hour to climb to Gryffindor tower, didn't they?

Harry just shrugged, not knowing what to say to that Slytherin. They hadn't had much communicating in the past; he really didn't know how he would react.

"I'm not going easy on you now." Malfoy smirked, having to take a shot of the firewhiskey. As if he was planning on going easy in the first place! His plan was to maim and humiliate…and Harry wasn't about to let him.

Malfoy pulled out a vile then, smirking as he tipped it into each bottle they had available. Fuck…that was, unless Harry was mistaken…veritaserum. This may be more trouble than he suspected.

Nott went next, grinning at Draco. "Drink." Malfoy smirked, gulping down his firewhiskey. "You can either explain why you've decided Potter is Slytherin enough to play, or you can give me your Potions homework."

Malfoy rolled his eyes as Nott shrugged, unperturbed. "On my bedside table."

"How come I had to steal firewhiskey, but you only have to give him homework?" Harry asked, blinking as Malfoy answered honestly.

"Because I was going easy on you." Then he glared, eyes turning to daggers. "A bit risky of you, asking me a question when I'm under veritaserum. Didn't know you had it in you." Translation; I'm going to get you back.

Harry glanced at Nott as he spoke; he couldn't help return the grin. "Play it smart, Potter." He suggested, cracking his knuckles rather smugly. From everyone there, Nott was the one Harry had least expected to be…well, nice.

"Potty, dear Potty," Parkinson smirked, dodging a hex from Malfoy, "Drink up."

Feeling as though he was walking into a trap, Harry filled an offered cup with the firewhiskey, wincing as the truth serum took hold. This could be potentially dangerous…It was fantastic.

"You can either explain why you refuse to do magic in class," Shit. Had he been that obvious? Fuck, fuckity fuck fuck…! "Or you have to sneak us into Gryffindor tower for some redecorating." She ignored Malfoy's glare, her sharp eyes honing into Harry's. There was no guilt in her stare now, only viciousness…and a desire for gossip.

He really had no choice, did he?

"Follow me." He forced a smile onto his face. This wasn't going to end well. What if they were still awake?

"Why are we scurrying through the castle?" Nott groaned, taking a large gulp of his bottle before continuing. They had no qualms about holding back, apparently. "This much physical excises cannot be healthy."

"Because, Darling," Parkinson simpered, her eyes shining with excitement. It was odd, seeing happiness on her face without the sneering. "I want to be in the group of first Slytherins to ever enter Gryffindor tower; I want to make the histories. And royally piss off some Gryffindorks whilst I can. That okay with you?" The others shrugged, ladling up their arms with alcohol and heading to the door. It seemed no one was willing to go against Parkinson; not with her reputation of castration.

Harry decided to walk with Draco, feeling safer there. And from his smirk, he knew, the git.

"I hope you know this expedition is pointless." Malfoy remarked as they stalked through the Slytherin common room, surprising most of the occupants that they were drinking happily with Harry Potter.

"Do explain." Parkinson scoffed, locking her arms with Zabini and Nott. She seemed…dare Harry say it? Happy? Normal? It was an odd change.

"Why, because I've already been inside Gryffindor common room."

Harry winced as she spun around, eyes murderous. She looked ready to throw hexes, the way her hand was inching towards her wand. Her eyes flickered towards Harry, narrowed, and slowly returned to Malfoy. Christ, she knew. "_What?" _

"Twice." Malfoy continued walking as though nothing was happening, a smirk on his face as Parkinson rounded on him. It was quite comical, actually. If you could get over the swearing.

"You fucker! Fucking sadistic little cock-sucking fucker!" Harry blinked at that; sure, he muttered an occasional swear. But he had _limits_. "You _know_ I've been planning this! Months! Years! And what do you do? Act like a shitty little squitty _fuck_-!"

"Draco," Blaise overrode the insults with a smirk; the other Slytherins chuckled to themselves, amused at her tirade. Was Harry the only one slightly terrified by the way she kicked at a glass table, which shattered? "Why were you in Gryffindor Tower?"

Draco didn't even blink. "Because I slept with Potter." That bastard! He _knew_ how that would sound! He didn't even look perturbed!

Harry's mouth had dropped open, eyes wide and mortified. And to make it worse, Parkinson had stopped yelling, and now the entire Slytherin common room was staring with smirks and straining to hear their conversation. And just when the rumours were dying down!

Blaise spun to Harry instead, sadistic grin across his face. "Have you slept with Draco?"

Fucking_ hell_ if he was going to answ- "Yes." The word was ripped from Harry's lips before he could stop it, realising with horror that the veritaserum was in his system. He was at their mercy…tch, Slytherins with mercy? Only in nightmares.

The entire room hollered, laughing or cheering. Bloody hell, they had it all wrong! And Malfoy didn't look as if he was about to correct them anytime soon.

"Are we destroying Gryffindor or not?" Harry demanded, face burning with embarrassment as he scurried to the entrance. Bloody Slytherins; no sense of humour at all! Malfoy followed him quickly, eyes glinting with amusement. "Oh, just _thanks_ for-"

"I feel as if I'm giving you an advantage, but you're playing with Slytherins, so you need all the help you can get." He drawled, smirking as Harry elbowed him. "There is a way to dodge the truth, even with the serum." He said, rolling his eyes as Nott catcalled as the rest of them followed the pair into the hallway.

Dodge a truth serum? How?

"Back to the game!" Zabini declared, a grin on his face still. He turned to Harry, still chuckling. "Drink." Said brunette rolled his eyes, taking a large gulp. It wasn't as if he needed to replenish the serum any time soon; it didn't disintegrate into his blood! It would remain for hours, the large quantities they were consuming. "Okay. Potty, sweet Potty," His grin was not comforting in the slightest. "You can explain why you're fighting with Weasley, or you can tell us the top things you love about Draco."

_What? _

Harry almost tripped in the hall, spinning around to see if the tanned boy was serious or not. Oh, he was serious. What the hell? He didn't want to answer either of that! He didn't even _know_ the answer to that!

Wait, why were they counting down?

"Three, two one." Nott chuckled, grinning like a maniac. Harry shifted away from the both of them; they were after his blood!

"What are the top three things you _adore_ about Draco?" Zabini asked, eyes cruel and ready. Harry cringed to himself, the words pouring from his mouth before he had time to analyse them.

"His eyes, his smell, his smile." Harry groaned, hiding his face in his hands as they burst into laughter again. He couldn't look at Malfoy; how the fuck was he supposed to meet his eyes now? This was just an excuse to get dirt on Harry!

"His _smell?"_ Parkinson repeated, giggling with undeserved mirth. She couldn't stop for the next few minutes, that Zabini had to practically carry her up the stairs to the tower. The cow.

This was _humiliating! How_ was Harry supposed to know what attracted him towards the Blonde? And adoration? Hardly.

…

Define 'adore'?

Goyle spoke for the first time that night. He turned to Nott, obviously considered the weakest link in the Slytherin pack. "You can tell me who pulled the prank on me yesterday," He grunted, eyes cold and hard. He didn't look like he was enjoying the game in the slightest. "Or you can let me crucio you."

The laughter died, an awkwardness hanging over the small group. Harry couldn't believe it that he was serious, but he didn't seem like the joking type. Even Nott wasn't smiling anymore, as he regarded his dorm mate grimly.

Harry glanced at the blonde next to him, but his cool gaze was directed at Goyle. They were all judging, weighing their options. Surely they wouldn't go through with this?

"…It was Draco and Pansy…it was Pansy's idea." He muttered, ignoring the slap to his head as Pansy passed him.

They travelled the past few corridors in silence, the heaviness overpowering. No one was willing to take their eyes off of the bulky, usually quiet one.

Harry led them to the portrait of the fat lady, pulling out his map and quickly scanning it. It seemed everyone was in bed, or at least up in their dorms. No one was in the common room, thank Merlin.

"What _is_ that?" Malfoy muttered, trying to get a peek. Harry held it to his chest, folding it quickly.

"Nothing."

"It's not _nothing_…I was on it."

Harry opted to ignore him, wandering up to the portrait. "Quidditch." He muttered, ignoring how the Fat Lady pursed her lips and sneered at him. She did _not_ approve apparently. But then, she couldn't restrict him access despite the fact he had several jeering Slytherins besides him.

The six of them snuck in.

"Argh! The colours!"

Harry winced as Parkinson shrieked, smirking as she received glares from most of the others. They were as good as cursed if they were discovered. Harry was as good as dead.

He snatched out the map again, shuffling away from Malfoy as he tried to get a glimpse. No one was moving that he could see. He nodded for them to continue, sighing in relief. It wouldn't do to get caught now.

"It's just…red…" Parkinson whispered, and for some bizarre reason, she giggled. Pansy Parkinson was giggling like a normal girl…it was eerie. And Harry couldn't help but smile. They were just normal kids, it seemed, like him. There was no reason they couldn't get along. No reason, really, for the divide between the houses.

Parkinson lifted her wand, moving it in glee.

Harry watched with a detached amusement as his home was redecorated. The colours were changed from red and gold to green and silver, until not a speck of Gryffindorness remained. Even the furniture was transfigured from plush armchairs to wooden stools and such. Someone had even added the encouraging words 'Gryffindor Sucks' into the wall above the fireplace.

As if they wouldn't immediately know it was the Slytherins.

He knew he would get the blame, and possibly Malfoy.

He should have felt upset. He didn't.

It was actually funny to imagine how pissed the Gryffindors would be in the morning.

Harry glanced at the map again, heart stilling. Hermione was awake…and climbing down to the common room. Shit.

"They've woken up!" He half shouted half whispered, blinking as Parkinson grinned at him, followed by a smirking Zabini. He didn't expect that. Not at all. Weren't they supposed to hate his guts forever?

He led the way out, scurrying back into the hallway. Malfoy didn't scurry; he hardly looked perturbed. He hadn't joined in with the decorating, only rolled his eyes from the sideline. As if he was more mature than them!

They didn't stop there, sprinting around the corner. Harry kept an eye on the map, slamming to a stop and grabbing Parkinson's arm before she rounded a corner, tripping instead and halting everyone lest they join him on the floor. His hands stung, scraped along the floor, but he didn't have time to listen to their complaints.

"Filch is there!" He whispered, and, right on cue, his shuffling footsteps and Mrs Norris' meowing could be heard echoing long the corridor. Eyes widening, the Slytherins spun around instead, running back past the open Gryffindor portrait. Malfoy paused, hesitating enough to pull Harry back to his feet; he couldn't help but grin, and they bolted through the corridors, laughing and making enough racket to wake the castle.

They let Harry keep an eye on his map, leading them around professors and students alike. Gryffindor common room was already filled with students, no doubt fighting over the new layout. They couldn't help but run and laugh.

Eventually, they ran into the great hall, panting and chuckling. The only one that remained stoic was Goyle, but no one paid any attention to him. They hadn't, since he had threatened Nott with the unforgivable.

"You can tell us what that parchment is, or you can march straight up to Gryffindork Tower and confess the decorations were you." Zabini smirked, offering Harry another drink.

Harry took it, gulping down the burning liquid gratefully. He shrugged, not really as secretive as he usually would have. What was the difference if a few Slytherins knew? Everyone in the DA already knew about the map, if they hadn't told all their friends already. It was safe, as long as no one knew how to manage it.

"It's a map of Hogwarts; my father and his friends created it." He panted, following the others down the hall so they could sit near the professor's table. Literally _on_ the table, not just near it. As if they weren't breaking enough school rules as it was. "It shows me where everyone is, and what they're doing, at anytime, of any day." He smirked as their eyes lit up curiously.

"Can I see it?"

"No way in hell." Harry folded it up, pushing it back into his pocket. With a whisper, he closed the map too. You could never be too careful, not with Slytherins around. Especially _nice_ Slytherins.

"Your turn, Potter." Harry glanced at Malfoy, surprised he had spoken. He had been silent for the past half an hour, listening with rapt attention, but never uttering a word. Since Harry's…admission. Merlin, how was he going to live that down?

"Fine. Drink, Malfoy." He had everyone's attention, as they waited to see how he would play. They played dirty, obviously. Would the Golden Boy?

Most defiantly.

Malfoy downed his drink with a smirk, eyes glinting with amusement. "I'm waiting." He drawled, the perfect poise of indifference. Tch.

"You can either call me 'Harry' for the week," Harry glanced at Zabini as he chuckled, flicking his eyes back to the blonde. "Or you can tutor me with my potions homework." He wasn't going to fail potions, not when it was the only class he was able to participate in. And everyone knew Malfoy was the Prince of Potions…either way, Harry won in this regard.

"Fine. Meet me at the library tomorrow, _Potter." _Then why did it feel as if he had lost?

It was Malfoy's turn, and he wasn't going easy, as promised. He waltzed up to Harry, breathing against his ear. God, it was an effort to look nonchalant, and not move. Every nerve in his body was screaming at him to move, to do _something_. Vanilla swarmed over him, it was all he could do not to inhale deeply. Fuck, he was turning into a hormonal, turned-on leech.

"You can tell everyone _why_ you go to the hospital wing every night," He whispered, oblivious to the glare Harry threw him. He raised his voice after that. "Or, you can sneak into Slughorn's room and grab a _contact exemplifying potion._"

Harry didn't know whether to look furious, and rightly so, or horrified, or amused.

So, instead he spun around and tried for indifferent, walking through the doors with his head held high. He could play this game.

.

.

.

Harry held his breath as he lay curled against an armchair, trying desperately not to move. God, he was going to _kill_ Malfoy! He had successfully snuck into the potions storage room, and searched in vain for the needed potion. However, it didn't exist. There was potion after potion in that room, each with its own label and position, and Harry had had to search every single fucking one of them manually before realising that the potion was not in its spot; It had been moved, and Harry could only speculate by whom.

So, feeling utterly disgusted by his next course of action, he had snuck into Slughorn's private rooms, hoping to find the potion in here instead.

It would have worked, if Slughorn had been asleep.

But no. Instead, Harry had had to witness him parading around in his nightclothes, his bulging stomach poking out of his shirt, humming and dancing around the room. Worse, it looked as if he was _recording_ it. Urgh; stuff of nightmares.

For ten minutes Harry had been stuck behind the overly puffed up chair, wincing as the footsteps steadily came closer. He wouldn't have the time to get the potion, if this kept up. Worse, how the hell would he explain this if he was caught? He was clearly visible form the door; what if a teacher walked in, and saw the scarcely clad potions master and a cowering Harry in the same room? He had to get out of here, and quickly.

Deciding it was worth the risk, or maybe it was the alcohol talking, Harry pulled out his wand, muttering a summoning charm. He hoped it was in here, otherwise it would be very odd if it had to smash down the door to reach him…

Harry grinned as the vile flew across the room, landing in his outstretched hand. He didn't know what Slughorn was planning on using it for, and frankly, he didn't want to know. Ugh, the images! Not nice! His eyes needed to be burned!

Harry flicked his wand towards the other side of the room, smashing something that made Slughorn jump, shaking his head and muttering to himself. Harry took the chance to hurry to the door, slamming it shut and bolting from the corridor quickly. Merlin, Malfoy _owed_ him for this! His innocence had been destroyed!

It wasn't until he reached the hall again, that he realised he had used magic twice, and nothing had happened. Maybe his luck was changing after all.

He tossed the vile towards Malfoy, smirking at him as best he could; after all, he had had a good teacher. "Remember, it's only good with experience, Malfoy." He smiled, leaping up and sitting next to the stunned blonde. He laughed again, taking another long drink. They hadn't expected him to pass that one either, had they? Was he proving himself an apt wizard, yet?

The game continued, each person getting meaner with their demands. Harry blinked in surprise as Nott told Parkinson to either tell the truth about the Carrows and her, or to change the banners in the great hall. Suffice to say, the Gryffindor banner now supported a badger, the Ravenclaw a purple snake, and Hufflepuff a pigeon. Not a raven, a pigeon. And the house points were all the same, blinding neon orange. Parkinson really was talented with her spells.

Parkinson was zeroing in on Harry, however, with the help of Zabini. She seemed obsessed with his lack of magic, though from the threat in Malfoy's eyes, he hadn't told her. He would have to be more careful, from here on out. If she was noticing, other people were too. "Tell us why you're playing, or prove you can still go magic."

"Because," Harry slurred, blinking heavily. It was getting harder to focus, with the swaying of the hall. "I like spending time with Malfoy. He mentioned this game, and I wanted to play since." He smiled, despite the serum dragging the truth from his lips. "And you seemed more fun to play with than the others…they wouldn't even say the name." Parkinson nodded gravely at that, her face serious.

"That's because they suck." She said, nodding, sipping on her drink. "It's a universal truth."

"Potter," God, why was _everyone_ picking on him? Couldn't they give him some slack? "Tell us if it is true that you died in the battle, or you can take a few minutes worth of CEP."

"…CEP?" Harry asked, frowning as Malfoy tossed him the vile. Oh, fuck it all to hell.

"But…there's no bed." He chuckled at their blank looks, sharing a grin with Malfoy. He wasn't nearly as tipsy as the others, but he was smiling more than he usually did. It was weird in itself. Harry tipped back the vile, grinning at the cherry flavour, but it was snatched from his hand by the blonde.

"Christ, Potter, do you _want_ it to end in a few minutes, or a few days?" He drawled, eyebrows lifting as Harry winced to himself. God, it was just like when he had damaged his nerves. Everything felt different; heavier, smother, rougher.

His clothing scratched at his skin where it connected, tight and uncomfortable. He got the urge to take off his shirt, but only Malfoy's lifted eyebrow stopped him. He couldn't embarrass himself even more in front of the blonde; he wouldn't be able to live out the next few months…weeks…having to avoid him. Like he would probably have to tomorrow morning, after admitting only Merlin knew what else that day.

He sat on the table, wincing as the polished wood felt splintery and rough; this was _not_ what he wanted at all. Hopefully, it would end soon; he couldn't go through this again.

"Malfoy," Goyle spoke, to everyone's surprise again. Why didn't he call Malfoy by his given name? Weren't they friends? "You can tell everyone exactly what you did in the Room of Requirement when it was on fire," Harry glared at the beefy boy, clenching his fists angrily. _How dare he?_ "Or, you can explain why the fuck Potter is here."

Malfoy cocked his head to one side, sipping on his firewhiskey. "I believe that's already been answered, however, I shall indulge you. I enjoy his company, and thought he would like to join the game; I thought you all would get along, and look here, we're not cursing each other." True, but a bit devious all the same. Wasn't Harry's friendship enough?

Harry pouted to himself, taking another swing of the bottle. The alcohol was fire, scorching down his throat and branding him. Fuck, no more drinking until after the potion wore off…sadly.

"Zabini," He demanded, turning to face him. He had thrown some rather nasty dares at Harry all night…time for some payback. "You can go up to Hermione in the morning, and sing your undying love for her, or you can tell us the single most embarrassing thing you have ever done."

If anything, he paled considerably, licking his lips. Malfoy looked smug, as though he didn't think Harry had had it in him to play dirty. There was a lot they didn't know about him.

"I have to hate you now, Potter." Zabini remarked, taking another swig of his bottle before cringing, rubbing his face. "Well, this is mortifying. I was at my aunt's fiftieth birthday a few years ago; I was around fourteen, and drunk out of my mind. So much, that I was dancing, and drinking, and in all probability smoking a shit load of pot. Well, I saw the single most beautiful girl I have ever met; we danced, we talked, we fucked." He sighed, taking in a few more gulps. He looked as if he was about to cry…Harry had said funny, didn't he? Embarrassing meant funny! "The next morning, I woke up in a bed that wasn't mine." He paused here, cringing. "Next to my first cousin."

Harry cringed at that himself; imagine losing your virginity to your cousin…it was just…

But Zabini wasn't finished. He hesitated, then shrugged. It was like peeling off a bandaid. "Boris."

Harry snorted, bursting into laughter. It was just…too funny! Zabini had lost his virginity to his _male_, in all probability transvestite, cousin…_Boris?_ Oh, he was _never_ allowed to live this down. Nott was rolling on the floor in stitches, pointing at Zabini and repeating the name over and over again.

If it wasn't for Malfoy holding him steady on the chair, Harry would have joined him. He was feeling hot and bothered now, this potion just felt weird. Even as he laughed, he could feel the weight of the air filling his lungs. How long would the CEP last?

Malfoy's hand on his shoulder was hot, seeping through his shirt. It sent tingled down his arms, nerves jittering. He really wanted to potion to end, now.

Harry was so preoccupied that he almost missed Parkinson agreeing to be 'relatively nice' to him for the rest of the week. It was as if Malfoy was annoyed at her constant badgering almost as much as Harry was getting; no one liked to be drunk, and have all their secrets out. Especially ones he had been hiding from those most dear to him for months.

Nott was still fuming quietly at the crucio threat, and after pushing himself up from the floor, sneered at Goyle. Did _anyone_ get along with the glaring wonder?

"Tell a joke." He demanded, smirking. "Smile." Again, the awkwardness descended on the group. It was more likely that the apocalypse would begin.

"Knock knock." Goyle sneered, eyes glinting dangerously. Harry perked up, listening intently. This was either going to be hilarious, or awkward as fuck.

"Who's there?"

"Fuck. Off."

Looks like he was opting for awkward as fuck.

Harry shifted uncomfortably on the bench, head spinning slightly. He ran his thumb against his fingertips, feeling the impossibly ridged fingerprints that streamed along his hands. His breath against his hand felt like steam, the bottle in his hand silk. He managed to catch Zabini's gaze, and immediately felt sick. He was grinning again, no mercy in his gaze. Great, what torture did he plan next?

"Blaise," Parkinson interrupted, laughing loudly to herself. Every time she tried to complete the sentence, it set her off on another giggling spree that she couldn't control herself. Eventually, she managed to contain herself, a magnificent smile across her face. "You have to go up to Granger in the morning, singing your undying love for her…" She giggled again, clearing her throat quickly. Merlin, she thought it was that funny that she was _crying_ with glee. "Or…you can go up to the Weasel and sing your undying love for him!"

Harry snorted at that, shaking his head. Either way, Zabini was going to be humiliated. His friends wouldn't care less, despite how they would be a tad unnerved. Zabini, however, was going to be _mortified._

As he was now. His jaw dropped open, eyes blazing with anger. "Bitch!" He growled, in disbelief. "What the fuck did I do to you?"

"You exist, dear, you exist." She replied, grinning into her drink. Harry couldn't wait for breakfast that morning; he had thought he would miss it, given the hangover he would undoubtedly receive from tonight, but he may be tempted to drink the entire anti-hangover drought instead. Zabini doing a serenade for either Ron or Hermione? He wouldn't miss that on his deathbed…maybe.

Harry was smirking into his drink when he felt Zabini's gaze on him once more, not humorous in the least. He refused to lift those dark eyes from Harry's face, but he addressed Malfoy.

"Draco, I'm certain you know why Potter doesn't use magic anymore, and the dodging around the questions tonight only proves it. So, you can either share that with us, in detail," He smirked humorously, "Or, you can kiss Potter."

Harry leapt from the table as if electrocuted, jerking away from Malfoy as quick as he could. Bloody hell, he wouldn't go through with it, would he? He…he was a Slytherin! Of course he would!

Why did _his_ dare have to include Harry? None of the others had had third parties involved!

Harry swallowed down the panic in his stomach, eyes swivelling to meet Malfoy. Shit.

He just stared at Zabini for a moment, face expressionless. Then he slowly stood up, cocking his head to one side and narrowed in on Harry. He looked like a predator, silvery eyes glinting dangerously. His trademark smirk was secured in place, as if he found this funny. _Funny! _

Harry stumbled backwards, shaking his head and holding his arms out in front of him as if they could somehow protect him. He was seriously considering telling them about the diagnostic, instead. How was he supposed to even look at Malfoy after tonight? Then again, it could have been worse; Zabini could have told Goyle to kiss him. He shuddered at the thought; no, this was worse. At least Goyle would pretend it never happened…Malfoy was going to hold onto this as blackmail material for life.

Malfoy followed his hasty retreat.

"Okay, enough with the joke. Come on, Malfoy, enough's enough." He tried to smile, cursing at himself as his stomach tightened gleefully. The butterflies were back, excitement trembling through him.

"Anyone would think you were scared, Potter." He drawled, his smirk growing as he edged closer. Scared? No, Harry was fucking mortified. He could see Nott dropping his jaw behind them, bewildered. Zabini just looked smug, whilst Parkinson was practically being restrained from rushing forwards excitedly. It wasn't a bloody show!

"Malfoy, don't-"

"It's just a dare."He said quietly, smirk gone as he pushed Harry lightly against the wall.

But it wasn't. And from his tone, he knew it too.

They stared at each other, almost nose to nose. Their chests were certainly touching; Harry could feel his heartbeat thumping against his skin, transferring into Harry's chest. He could feel his breath across his face, sending more of those gooses bumps down his spine. There was the overpowering scent of vanilla again, only slightly masked by the strong firewhiskey. It was pure Draco.

His eyes were glinting again, no traces of amusement left. His challenge made all previous ones look weak and pitiful; this one promised hurt if Harry didn't respond, didn't comply.

Slowly, painfully slowly, Draco inched forwards, barely touching his lips to Harry's in a gentle whisper of a kiss.

It made his lips tingle and ache; a soft tease.

Harry needed more.

In an action horrifyingly more confident then he felt, Harry reached up and grabbed the back of Malfoy's neck, pushing him forwards to connect their lips properly. There was nothing sweet this time.

It was completely different from kissing Ginny. Harry didn't want to think that, but the thought popped up before he had a chance to squash it. With a girl, you had to be gentle, soft. There was nothing gentle about this kiss.

Malfoy moved with ease, practised. The tantalising touch of a tongue before it disappeared, a hand pulling his hair, the pain of his lip being bitten playfully; even that sent tingles of pleasure down Harry's spine.

His heart was thumping loudly, so very loudly. There was nothing in the room, but the two boys. He couldn't hear anything but his pulse, and his heavy breathing. Merlin, he was going to need air soon.

He could feel Malfoy smirking against his lips.

A catcall breached the silence, jerking Harry back to reality. He was snogging Malfoy, in a room full of people. Shit.

Harry stilled, paralysed. Shit. _Shit. _What the hell was he supposed to do now? He almost laughed hysterically, emotions running high. He had initiated this kiss, this animalistic want; and Malfoy knew this. He was going to blackmail Harry to the end of time. All he wanted was…Malfoy. Fuck it all, he couldn't lie to himself. He wanted Malfoy! But Malfoy didn't, shouldn't, and most defiantly didn't want him.

Harry winced as his hands began trembling, still in Malfoy's hair. He had to move them now, unless he dragged the blonde back into another kiss. Somehow, he didn't think that would go down that well. He could feel himself panicking, almost as if he was watching it all happen.

Slowly, Malfoy's thumb stroked the back of his neck.

He continued for a few seconds before pulling away, untangling Harry's hands as he went.

Harry saw a flash of grey, but quickly averted his eyes. He couldn't look at him right now, couldn't be humiliated or embarrassed, or mocked. It would destroy him.

"Potter-"

"_What the fuck was that?" _

Harry swallowed tightly, folding his arms against his chest. Malfoy was still too close, and he didn't seem to be shifting anytime soon. Better to make a barrier before he did anything he would regret. Like kiss him again.

"It was a dare." Malfoy replied coolly, voice sharp. Harry didn't know whether to be pleased or worried about that.

"_That wasn't a dare kiss." _

"I was following the game, Greg."

"That's fucking bullshit, and you know it!" Goyle bellowed, turning to sneer at Harry. "Get him to fucking leave, or tell me what the fuck's wrong with him!"

Well, there had to be some Slytherin in him after all.

Guess that's the end of the game.

Harry sighed to himself, casting a quick glance towards Malfoy. He wore his mask again, face expressionless, but radiating fury. He could practically see the tension between both boys formulating.

After that…display…Harry thought it best if he just left. No one would miss him, after all. He had achieved what he had wanted.

Harry quietly crossed to the doors, ensuring he avoided eye contact. A few moments ago, he thought he was a straight kid with an illness he didn't care about. Now, not so much.

He should never have let Malfoy in.

Now, all he wanted, more than anything, was to live.

.

.

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_23. Play Wizard or Mudblood_


	19. I don't want to die!

**Hello to all my beautiful, wonderful, AMAZING reviewers! First, I would like to say I am so very very very sorry that I haven't updated in a long time :( I had a death in my family, and the funeral was far away from home, with no internet, and no laptop. I've only just gotten back, and didn't particularly want to write a story about a dying character when I was still grieving. However, it's not fair for you wonderful people out there! So, I grit my teeth and wrote all day today, so I hope you like it. It's a bit sadder than usual, but I've tried to make up for it towards the end :) **

**Thank you for all my reviewers! I love you all! And Number-fucking-One Fan...you made my day! :)**

**Oh, and I am sorry for all my horrible mistakes in other languages :P I don't speak anything other than English and Japanese, and in a chapter coming up, there are a hell of a LOT of languages - I'm apologizing beforehand because I know I will get it wrong. I don't know how to change chapter content after it's uploaded, so when the story is finished I'll probably get around to fixing all my mistakes :) **

**And you guys are making this so incredibly hard for an ending! Half of you want him to survive, the other don't! Well, either way, fifty percent of my readers will be disappointed. I've already decided on the ending - no spoilers! :D **

**Enjoy! **

I do not own anything here, nor am I making a profit from this. It is purely to pass my time, and hopefully, interest other people. J. owns Harry Potter, not me.

**Chapter nineteen - I don't want to die!**

Harry woke to pounding; agonizing pounding. He groaned groggily, staggering to sit up and not throw up as his head spun savagely. Yup, defiantly not a good idea to drink with the Slytherins all night. Fuck, what was _in_ that firewhiskey? Other than excessively large quantities of truth serum?

His mouth tasted furry and disgusting, his shirt had a yellowing stain where he apparently spilt his drink sometime last night, and he was…lying on the stone flooring of an alcove? He hadn't even made it back to his room last night; no wonder his back felt like it was on fire.

It was an effort to summon the energy to move, dragging himself to his feet and staggering to the girls bathroom across the hall, fumbling through his pockets for his anti-hangover solution. Bloody hell, where was it? He _couldn't _have left it in the Slytherin room…great. _Perfect_, actually.

Harry stumbled to the sink, resting his head against the mirror.

He had kissed Malfoy.

…

Nope, it didn't sound right. Didn't sound real. It couldn't have happened, if it sounded ludicrous in his head. Even his failing body knew a lie when he thought it.

He had kissed Malfoy. _He_ had kissed _Malfoy. _He had _kissed_ Malfoy.

…

No, it didn't feel right. The words were twisted, and didn't flow. It didn't happen. It must have been some hallucination, with all that alcohol obliterating his senses. It was a dream, or a nightmare. It didn't happen.

Harry splashed his face with a sigh rubbing the grit and the dirt from his face. He needed a nice long sleep, and a pensieve. Merlin, what was wrong with him? How had he thought that playing a game with the Slytherins would be fun? They were going to poke fun at him until he di…until he left.

Harry ran a tired hand through his hair, glaring at the rings around his eyes. Did he look thinner, or was it just the lighting in here? Maybe if he tucked his shirt in…no, that looked worse. Untuck it.

There was no use trying to tidy his hair, so instead he ran some water into it, somehow hoping it would stop the throbbing. There was nothing to do about his disastrous appearance, so he might as well head down to breakfast and try some hangover food; his stomach grumbled loudly at the thought. Merlin, he hadn't been hungry in weeks. It was a reason as good as any to smile.

Harry sighed again, staring into his own eyes without interest. What was the point in having pretty eyes, if they weren't going to remain open? He would willingly give his eyes for his life.

"I kissed Malfoy." He whispered.

Damn. It sounded right.

.

.

.

Harry winced as the bright lighting sent trumpets exploding in his head, unmerciful as they laughed at his expense. The light was too bright. The hall was too loud. It was too early for this. He almost spun back around and shuffled back out, but the insistent grumbling of his stomach prevailed. Anyway, he couldn't think of a worse fate than to have to stagger up all those stairs again; rolling down them had been much easier than the very real possibility of crawling up them.

He shuffled to the nearest table, sighing in relief that it happened to be Gryffindor, and piled up a plate of scrambled eggs and toast. Morning after food, Malfoy had said once. Hopefully the morning after an intoxicated, stupid night ruining his best chances of happiness for the next few months, was what he had meant. It was doubtful.

God, he had missed good food.

Harry hungrily bit into his breakfast, his stomach growling angrily. He was _starving_; how _hadn't _he been eating lately? It was as if he was grounded, back in his cupboard. But on purpose. Who the hell would purposefully fast until starvation? Of course, he knew he was exaggerating the starving part; he was only slightly famished. Slightly meaning he was refilling his plate already, in two seconds flat.

Eyes were drilling into his back from across the hall; grey eyes, if Harry could place his bet. He could just imagine the smug little smirk on Malfoy's face, the omnipotent 'I told you so' that he would _grace_ Harry with as soon as they were close enough to talk.

He couldn't face the blonde.

Not after yesterday.

So, he kept his head down, and gorged himself with food, none of which, he might add, was helping his headache. He was going to the library later to do some reading, and he didn't need Malfoy there to witness it.

"_Oh Weasley, Oh Weasley, I don't care that you're Measly," _

Oh god no.

Harry spun around, a grin on his face as Zabini stood upon the Slytherin table, arms outstretched as he sung. He wore a look of utter adoration, and was grinning winningly at Ron. He winked at the startled redhead, strutting across the hall, acutely aware that every eye swivelled to stare at him.

"_Others may be queasy, and I'll still easily be, naively, in love with my….Weaselby." _

Harry's hand slapped to his mouth to try to stifle the laughter. Mirth flowed up inside him; he couldn't stop the disbelieving laughter if he had wanted to. Ron's face was clear mortification, switching from red and pale every few seconds. And Zabini! He was practically skipping as he sung his way around the hall, eyes not once leaving Ron's face. He wore a predatory smirk as he inched closer, looking like he was about to jump him! He was enjoying himself, the complete tosser!

"_Oh Weasley, Oh Weasley, your hair may be greasy, and ranga, and coarse, and-"_

The attention was too much for Ron.

With a startled roar, he launched himself Zabini, who happened to be on his knees at this point, arms opened as he attempted the most unorthodox serenade ever produced.

The tanned boy grinned to himself, jumping to his feet and leaping out of the way.

"That's right, honey, come to me!" He smirked, backing away quickly. The hall roared with laughter and giggles, no one quite knowing how to proceed with this. "Come _for_ me!" He added, sliding around the edge of the table, sprinting to try to get back to the safety of Slytherin.

Harry laughed, wiping the tears from his eyes.

McGonagall had stormed to her feet, gesturing for both boys to join her. God, Zabini had no shame. Even now, in front of the Headmistress, the decidedly ill looking Headmistress, he was winking at Ron and wore a cocky little smirk.

Harry glanced around the room, taking in everyone's giggles and smirks. Even Hermione had covered her mouth with a hand, trying her hardest not to laugh. Of course, the Slytherins howled with laughter. They clapped and cheered for Zabini as he sauntered back to their table. And surprisingly, a few from the other tables did too. As odd as that was.

Harry found himself clapping along with the others, shaking his head ruefully as Zabini stood on the table again, bowing towards Ron. A step too far, perhaps, but not for a melodramatic Slytherin. For fucks sale, he had just proclaimed love for Ron in front of the entire school; there wasn't a thing a 'too far' at this point.

A flash of grey.

Harry quickly went back to eating.

.

.

.

Harry sighed as he entered the potions room, the tightness in his stomach returning. He didn't want to be here. He wanted to sneak upstairs and climb into his bed, but that wouldn't help his determination to pass this single class, would it? Neither did the fact that he hadn't remembered to bring down any of his books or equipment, but that was neither here or there. Harry was _not_ going to climb those forsaken stairs.

He shuffled through the doors, trying to keep his head still. His headache hadn't stopped yet, neither had the dizziness. It helped if he tried not to move, however. He didn't glance at the Gryffindors, knowing they would take it as him being guilty over the redecorations. He had heard furious whispers in the hall waiting for the class to begin, and knew they were out for blood. Not literally, but revenge all the same. He didn't particularly want to give it to them, surprisingly.

He made his way to his cauldron, wincing as Goyle snarled at him as he approached, kicking the stool besides him to the floor. "I'm not sitting next to a fucking faggot." He growled, piggy eyes glinting dangerously.

Harry blinked at that, surprised at how the tightness returned to his chest. He had been called that plenty over the weeks, when everyone thought he was engaged to Malfoy. They still did, but it had lessened. And yet, it had never hurt like it did now.

Slowly, the soft conversations in the room dimmed, each ear turned their way. Harry could feel his face heating up, the embarrassment and, worse, confusion flushing his face. There _was_ nowhere else to sit. And too make it worse, he was standing there awkwardly with nowhere to go, making the situation even _worse_ than it was every moment he just _stood _there like an imbecile…and why was he still _standing _there?

"Oh, yes, because your relationship with Vincent was so platonic." Parkinson sneered, surprisingly. Harry blinked at her in confusion, taking a step back as Goyle launched to his feet.

"We _never_-"

"By _your_ definition," She continued, tying her hair into a messy bun with a slight frown, barely even addressing her housemate. "We're all faggots anyway. There's Draco and Potty, so sickening smitten with one another," He was _not _smitten! It was a slight crush, at most! "Blaise is involved with a completely unrequited, _sordid_, love affair with Weasel," Her lips twitched here, but didn't give anything else away. "And Theo is in love with himself. Which _faggot_ do you _want_ to sit with?" She sneered, eyebrows raised.

Ouch. She had some bite in her after all.

"You aren't-" Goyle began, grunting uncomfortably as he realised the entire room was watching their conversation, greedy little eyes hungry for gossip. But, Parkinson's shrill fake laughter cut him off.

"Don't even think about it." She sneered, lips twitching in a smirk again. "We're not friends."

Harry winced as she turned her predatory gaze on him instead, eyes glinting curiously. "Potter. You can-"

"Take my spot, Potty." Zabini sighed dramatically, slinging his bag next to Goyle. He shoved himself from his chair, "Or Pansy will-"

Harry didn't really want to know what Parkinson had in mind for him, and was actually quite thankful that Slughorn chose that moment to reappear from the storeroom.

"Come on, come on, take your seats!" He boomed, waddling to the front of the class. "Aparantly I need to talk to you all about some nasty business. Very nasty. Nothing to do with potions, but each class is being questioned regardless." He tutted at that, rolling his eyes as he regarded his students.

Harry quickly plonked himself in the seat next to Malfoy, shifting uncomfortably as those eyes drifted to him. Merlin, his stomach was on fire, a bundle of uncontrollable nerves. He could feel his face turning red as that steady gaze didn't waver, staring him down. What did he want him to say? 'I'm sorry I sucked your face off' didn't sound good even in his head.

Harry almost jumped as something touched his hand, jerking his arm away quickly, then returning it as he realised his mistake. Malfoy was passing him something, his eyes finally flitting away to Slughorn in case he was watching. Whatever it was had better be important enough to risk…

It was the anti-hangover solution.

Harry sighed in relief, pretending to scratch his nose but downing the potion. It looked tacky, but Slughorn didn't notice, so who cared?

"A few rebellious students went around last night, mocking the school and its very foundations, by-"

Harry couldn't help the grin that stretched over his face.

Slughorn went on and on about how this rebellious act was immature, and downright dangerous. Harry didn't see how it could possibly be dangerous; a few students running around after dark wasn't perilous in the slightest; the only possible threat that could come of their game last night would be the retaliation from the Gryffindors, and the teachers had shed a surprisingly blind eye to that all year long. It wasn't as if they would suddenly interfere now, even if they did catch on that the hexes were becoming slightly more obvious.

"So, if anyone would like to apologize for their actions last night, the faculty here ensures that no punishment will befall the student." Slughorn continued dryly, as if he was slightly bored. "We simply wish to know why they did as they did, where the alcohol came from, and to how they managed to sneak into the Gryffindor tower."

He paused here, eyes drifting around the room. "There. Done. Anyone here wish to confess?"

Harry kept his gaze steady on the desk surface, not daring to look up. If his face was easy to read, all the professor had to do was glance at him and he would know. He didn't particularly want the Gryffindors after him again; they had been vicious enough this year, for something he had no control over. If they knew he did it purposely, they would be relentless.

He had to roll his eyes, however. The Slytherins were basking in smugness; could they make it any more apparent?

"No?" Slughorn continued, bouncing on his toes. "Shame, shame. That was a good bit of magic there; did anyone see the statues in the Great Hall? The pigeon…" He chortled, making a big deal out of wiping his eye and turning to the blackboard.

"Sir, I don't think you should be advocating this sort of behaviour." Hermione spoke up, earning nods of approval from her house. "Gryffindor house was attacked."

"Now, now, it's alright." Slughorn waved a hand amicably, failing in placating Hermione. "It's all just fun and games; no one was hurt, were they? And I think even you would admit that it was quite a good prank."

"It could potentially jeopardise every student here; we don't know how they got in. What if-"

"It could have been anyone, Miss Granger." Slughorn nodded, sitting behind his desk with an eyebrow raised. "That doesn't rule out Gryffindors either. It seems like a good tactic, if you ask me. Pretending it was another house so that whoever it was wouldn't be suspicious." Oh god. "Maybe there's a smug Gryffindor somewhere, thinking that this will cause strife between the houses. I'm not pointing fingers, and I doubt that it _was_ a Gryffindor, but the possibilities are still there." Just _stop_. "Now, let's put this behind us, and move on. It was good magic, let's leave it at that, and let's not do it again. Right. Today we're going to…"

Harry swallowed, glancing around Malfoy to the other side of the room, holding back his cringe. He could see the clogs turning in each mind, see exactly when they came at the inevitable conclusion. Only a Gryffindor could get into the tower; they would have to know the password, would have to have a Slytherin type of mind, and would have to be ostracised from the house of red, and in all probability want revenge.

One by one the Gryffindor eyes narrowed, and their heads turned to stare at him.

"You bloody traitor!" Ron bellowed, jerking to his feet as he pointed at Harry. "How could you let _them_ in _our _house!"

"How _could_ you, Harry?"

"Scum are we, Potter? Huh?"

Harry flinched at the sudden uproar on the Gryffindor half of the room, swallowing tightly and shaking his head as the yelled abuse at him. "It wasn't me!" He tried to say it determinedly, but everyone knew he couldn't lie to save his own life.

"Whoa, whoa, calm down!" Slughorn was out of his depth, waddling between both sides of the classroom with his hand out wide. "Calm down! What is this all about? I said _calm down!"_

Slowly the Gryffindors stopped yelling, but they remained standing, glaring at Harry for all he was worth. Except Neville, of course, who was sitting there biting his lip, glancing around the room as though he didn't know who to back. And Hermione, oddly enough, who had one hand resting on Ron's elbow, looking as if she was either comforting him or trying to get him to sit back down.

"Harry's the one that did it!" Seamus snapped, glaring at him furiously. "He destroyed the room. He's the one that thinks we're scum."

"That, or he led the Slytherins into the room! _They're_ his mates now." Ron added, muttering to himself and refusing to look Harry in the eye.

Harry himself sat dumbfounded; eyes wide. For once, guilt gnawed at his stomach. Well, they were _right_. Harry had led the Slytherins into the common room last night, and they _had_ redecorated the room. It was his fault. But, he didn't want to prove the Gryffindors right.

He was angry with them, and so tired of being alone. If he didn't back the Slytherins, he would lose Malfoy, and though he couldn't even _look_ at the blonde at the moment, that was something he would do anything to prevent. He needed the git.

"It wasn't me." Harry denied, swallowing as Hermione and Neville's eyes narrowed too; they knew he was lying through his teeth. "You're wrong."

"That's bullshit!" Ron thundered, eyes wide. He looked as if he had never seen Harry before, and that hurt more than it should. "You're lying! You weren't in your bed last night!" He added, ears turning red. "Where were you, then?"

Harry blinked, hands shaking. Ron was checking he slept in Gryffindor Tower? He still cared.

"He was in Slytherin." Zabini drawled, shrugging indifferently. "We were playing games in the boy's dormitory."

"Why would you allow a Gryffindor into Slytherin?" Seamus snapped again, shaking his head in disbelief. "You're lying through your teeth."

"Ask anyone." Harry sighed, avoiding Ron's stare of betrayal. "That's what we were doing."

"Any Slytherin, any year." Parkinson added, scowling as though he didn't think she should be trying to explain. Well, she probably didn't. "They'll tell you the same thing."

"Yeah, and you'll run off and tell them what to say as soon as we do." Lavender piped up, rolling her eyes dramatically. It was a failed attempt.

"We won't even leave the room." Zabini challenged, arms spread wide. Merlin, how could they find this taunting fun? It was making Harry feel sick to his stomach.

"Okay, I think that's quite enough." Everyone jerked as though they had forgotten Slughorn was in the room; Ron looked mildly embarrassed as the fact he had swore in front of him. However, the professor just looked grim. "It wasn't Harry. Now, let's go back to our lesson."

"Professor, you can't honestly just expect them to tell the truth-!" Seamus interrupted angrily, but was cut off with a snap from Slughorn.

"It. Was. Not. Harry." He almost growled, glaring at each of the Gryffindor's in turn. Harry squirmed uncomfortably in his seat; of course Slughorn was certain; Harry couldn't do magic without killing himself. If only the Gryffindors were reassured.

By their livid glares, they weren't.

Even Neville turned his head away, shaking it angrily.

Harry sat there, ignoring the Slytherin smugness as the guilt settled into his stomach.

He hated himself.

.

.

.

Harry shuffled through the shelving, his newly acquired book hidden under one arm, underneath several other books for a cover. If he was found, he could be doing either his potions homework or studying the other languages again. He did it often enough now that he could remember ten without forgetting; it wasn't much, but at least it was some progress.

He needed to find a hidden desk, somewhere no one would find him. That, or he would run to the room of requirement. Actually, that wasn't such a bad idea. Why was he wasting his time hiding in the library when no one, map or otherwise, could find him there? Oh, well, too late now.

He felt sick. He didn't want to do this, not in the least. It was going to ruin his mood, it wouldn't help at all…it was stupid.

And yet, he continued through the shelves, creeping around other students and sighing with relief as he found a rickety desk in the corner. It was covered in dust. Perfect. No one would edge down here, would they?

He plonked himself down, swallowing tightly as he glanced at the book. It was old, but hardly had any dog-ears on the pages; it hadn't been read often. Hopefully, no one would notice what it was.

Steadying himself, Harry flipped the book open, running a finger down the index. Q…R…There.

_Succorbentis_.

…

It didn't look too bad. Not a threatening word at all, for one that didn't know what it was. It could have been Wingardium Leviosa, and it would have left the same impact.

Harry released an unsteady breath, shaking his head at his own stupidity. He had thought it would leap across the page and start murdering him, the way he carried on. What could it do? It couldn't sneer, couldn't taunt. A word was a word.

Okay. This was easy.

He could do this.

Harry flipped to the required page, staring at the heading for a moment. Just a word. A harmless, insignificant name. Just a label, really. It was fine. He was fine.

His eyes flicked to the first line.

_This incurable-_

Harry slammed his hand across the page, scrunching his eyes shut. Fuck, it hurt. It shouldn't hurt like this. His chest was ramming against his ribcage, his head screaming, trying to find a way out. He couldn't do this, he couldn't _read_ about it! It wasn't just words and labels and names; it was _his_ life these _words_ were tearing apart.

Harry pulled at his hair, gritting his teeth angrily. Why was it always _him_?

He slammed a hand back down onto the desk, ignoring the stinging in his hand. Again.

Again.

It wasn't making his chest hurt any less, not ebbing the pain away. He kicked the desk, barely noting when it cracked and sent books scattering. His breath came out in startled gasps. Words. It was just fucking _words_.

His eyes jerked open as he heard footsteps, too close for comfort. Instinctively, he leapt to his feet, stumbling away from whoever had happened upon him. "Lumos."

His snarl faltered slightly as he came face to face with a startled Malfoy, eyes wide in the glittering light. Eyes which quickly narrowed with anger of their own.

Why was he here _again? _Harry had fucking _hidden_ to try to get away-

He gasped as his cheek flared with pain, staggering into the shelf roughly. Malfoy had just punched him. He touched his cheek tenderly, wincing as it flared with pain. Pain, which dimmed as fury replaced it.

Before he knew it, he had launched at the blonde teen, tackling him to the ground. He heard Malfoy's head hit shelving with a loud thump, but didn't care. He needed to hurt, and he needed to hurt _now! As much as Harry was hurting! _

Harry pulled back an arm and flung it forwards roughly, punching Malfoy across the opposite cheek. Before his head could even turn to face Harry, the fist was swinging forwards again.

Harry growled to himself, pulling back another fist.

Why was it always _him_?

Pure fury radiated from him, exploding with each punch to Malfoy's face. _He had had enough! _Enough of the Dursley's treating him like shit, literally. Enough of being judged by every fucking pair of eyes! Of being rejected and ignored for a disease he didn't deserve! Of trying to put _everyone else_ first!

He had had enough of being _alone_!

He _couldn't _keep living like this!

Those fucking _words!_

Harry brought back his fist again, about to bring it down when he realised something. Malfoy wasn't fighting back. He was just laying there, blood dribbling from his mouth and nose, and his cool eyes never leaving Harry's face.

But, he just lay there. He didn't even try to free himself!

"_Fight back!" _Harry growled, clenching his fist tighter. "_Fight!" _

"…No." The word took some effort to say, and he had to spit out blood to even speak, but still, he didn't move to hit Harry back. He didn't even move to defend himself. Harry snarled at him, lifting his hand back further. If he wasn't going to fight, it was no fault of his. He had given him a chance.

However, something had changed. As soon as Harry had realised that Malfoy wasn't fighting back, that it was a completely one-sided battle, the anger had fled like the coward it was. It hid back into the recesses of Harry's troubled mind, leaving him shell of faked anger and just…_emptiness. _

Something else rose up inside his core, feeding and festering until his eyes watered and the hollow space felt too, too big. It became an effort to keep his arm raised, an effort to stay sitting up. It was a fierce, almost desperate fight to keep the sudden wetness in his eyes from spilling over. One that he lost.

_Exhaustion _swept over Harry, festering into his mind and controlling his body until he slumped over, leaning his head on the battered boy's chest. His hands curled around the Slytherin's robes, despite the now sharp stinging on his right one, and clung on for dear life. Even if the blond wanted to remove Harry, he wouldn't have much choice.

Harry's entire body cramped up, unable to move more than the slight tremors that shook his frame. The tears wouldn't stop now, a flow that refused to recede now that it had finally clawed its way to the surface.

_Why was it always _him_? _

_Fuck, it hurt. So much. _

Harry shook slightly, trying to stop the chocked sobs that were beginning to wrench its way free. He couldn't take much more of this! He was falling apart at the seams, and there wasn't anyone left to put him back together.

Slowly, hesitantly, a hand pressed into his back. Harry had forgotten that he was straddling Malfoy, and if he had thought the reminder would have him still, he was horribly wrong. A strangled cry wrenched its way from his throat, hardly sounding like his own.

He couldn't deal with this.

So Harry sobbed, and Malfoy let him.

.

.

.

Harry lay there mortified, head still resting on Malfoy's chest, eyes wide with horror. He was straddling the blonde, after sobbing hysterically on him for the past few minutes, after beating the shit out of his face. Ignoring the fact that he had snogged him less than twenty four hours ago. How the _fuck_ was he supposed to face him now?

If he lifted his head, he had no doubt Malfoy would be waiting for freeze him with his gaze. So, he refused to move. And thus, sealed his fate. He could sit like this for days; so what if his feet and hands were numb? If you couldn't feel it, it couldn't hurt.

Harry swallowed tightly, holding in a sigh that could break the silence. Malfoy's steady breathing rustled against his head, effectively calming him. The hand hadn't moved from the small of his back, the thumb stroking against him gently. The hand was warm against his shirt; Harry was certain he could trace every finger, as if branded into his skin.

He didn't want to break the silence. The comfort he had unknowingly fallen into.

And yet, a subconscious part of his mind reminded him that Malfoy may very well have a broken nose. It hinted that his hand was turning purple, and he couldn't move it. It hissed at him to move, before he embarrassed himself more so.

Harry promptly ignored it.

"You're going to have to move eventually." Came the drawl from above him, stilling him further. He didn't think it was possible, but apparently his body wanted to resemble a statute. A statute straddling Draco Malfoy. Fuck, he needed firewhiskey.

Harry didn't want to move. He wanted to remain right where he was, without the embarrassing mess that was becoming his life. He had lost his glasses a little while ago, and could only see the blurred outlines of everything around him. Even so, he couldn't move to face Malfoy. Even a blurred Malfoy was daunting.

"I know you're awake." Malfoy continued, but he didn't move either. He could have easily just shoved Harry away; instead, he waited for Harry to make the first move. And here Harry had thought he knew the simple concept 'mercy'. "I know you're listening to me. And I know if you don't move soon, we're going to be discovered in this compromising position, and your tear-stricken mug will be all over the prophet by sundown. Is that what you want?"

He had a good point, despite the nausea his words brought back to Harry.

"Potty, get off."

Harry clenched his teeth, drawing up the last reserves of Gryffindor courage. There wasn't much left, but it was enough to start moving. His stomach lurched violently, warning him to remain still; he ignored it.

He forced his limbs to move, to listen to him. His leg jolted a bit, slowly shifting until he wasn't lying over the blonde. It was slightly unnerving, that that was as much as he could summon. He felt weak; he couldn't even pretend he could move; he couldn't.

Harry snapped his eyes open as hands covered his own; incredibly gentle as they prized his clenched fists open.

His hands were trembling though, barely able to move. Malfoy's thumb stroked Harry's palm, sending tingles down his arm and warming his stomach. Shit.

Harry jerked away, falling heavily to the side, barely catching himself before he slammed against the floor. He couldn't see Malfoy's expression, and thanked Gods unknown for that. He crawled backwards slowly, shifting away from him. He couldn't deal with this, not now.

For a while, neither said anything. Malfoy eventually uttered a few healing spells, transforming himself to his former impeccable glory.

Harry sat shamefaced on the floor, not even facing the blonde; his mantra of 'out of sight out of mind' was running through his head pitifully. God, he has pathetic.

"You've done an amazing job at avoiding us for the entirety of the day." Malfoy eventually spoke, ignoring the fact he had just had the shit beaten out of him. And the fact that they had kissed. And the fact that Harry had just-"Skipping Herbology and hiding in the forgotten depths of the library is a tad drastic, isn't it?"

"Malfoy-" Harry was overridden.

"I hunt you down because I have to help you with your homework, lest I lose at my own game." He continued, his voice still indifferent. "To have you revert back into a savage Gryffindor. Such lost progress."

What the hell was he saying? Why wasn't he throttling Harry? Jeering?

Harry half expected him to continue, but the silence reigned again. Thank God he had lost his glasses.

"I'm sorry." Harry whispered, staring at the carpet. Fuck, Malfoy deserved a better apology than that, but it was all he could offer at the moment. He was surprised his voice had actually let him speak; he had half expected it, too, to abandon him.

Like Malfoy should, now.

"Don't apologize, it belittles you." Malfoy replied equally as softly, sitting somewhere to Harry's left. He didn't know how to take that; not to apologise because it wouldn't be accepted, or because it wasn't needed? It was defiantly needed, but that meant-

"Stop thinking, you'll kill off what little brain cells you have left." The blonde continued. He shifted, the noise seeming too loud in the darkness. "If this is about the dare…?"

Oh, god. He was _not_ having this conversation.

"No, it's not." Harry quickly replied, still not facing him. He remained staring at the blurry carpet; his eyes must be getting worse, he could barely make out his hand next to it. Great.

"Forget Gregory; he's an idiot."

"I know." Harry dived through his thoughts, trying to find a way out of this potentially mortifying conversation. "They're…figuring it out." Great cover Harry. Really, round of applause for pure _utter fucking idiocy over here! _

"Is that such a bad thing?"

What? Of course it was; _no one _was supposed to know. Bloody _Malfoy _wasn't supposed to know!

"Yes!"

"…I'll tell them to drop it." It did little to comfort Harry. If the Slytherins were figuring it out, how much had the Ravenclaws? Fuck, the Gryffindors? They _had_ to be noticing his lack of magic.

"For fucks sake, Potter, don't ignore me!" Shit, had he spoken? Harry hadn't even heard.

He opened his mouth to respond, but didn't know what to say. Hell, did didn't know what was an appropriate reply for something he hadn't heard. What if it was a trap to corner him? What if he was something to do with the dare?

Malfoy growled, anger dripping into his voice. "Don't you _dare_ start shutting me out too, Potter. Just tell me what the fucking problem is! It's the dare, isn't it? It's the-"

"It's not the dare!" Harry blurted out, just trying to shut him up. Why was everything _against him_? "That was…never mind." There was _no way in hell_ he was telling him what he really thought about the kiss. That it had made him feel more alive than he had in weeks. Merlin, kill him of embarrassment now.

"You are so full of bullshit! If _that's_ not the problem, then-"

"I don't want to die!" Harry blinked, his mouth snapping shut. Shit. He had said it. Shit. _Fuck._ He hadn't meant to say that. He would rather tell Malfoy to hurry up and reclaim his lips than tell him that! But he had started now, and no matter how his mind was screaming at him to _shut up_, he couldn't stop. "Last night was fun, really fun. And I realised that I _miss_ having fun, that I miss living. I'm not fucking living anymore; I'm just sitting and counting down the days until either explode, or can't take it anymore. Because I'm telling you now, _I can't take this anymore!_ I can't just sit back and be _fine_ with the fact I'm not going to grow old, that I'm never going to get married, that I'm never going to be able to love anyone; building a fucking _snowman _was a bloody accomplishment, and that's fucking pathetic; I want more of last night, but I can't have it. Fuck, I don't want to die. I don't want it! I'm dying, and can't do a fucking thing about it, and all I want-"

Harry let out a small 'oomph' as he was knocked backwards, panic settling in as he realised he was on his back with a rather strong body suddenly leaning over him. What the fuck was Malfoy thinking…!

Oh.

His tirade stopped as suddenly as it began as Malfoy's soft lips descended on his; tch, _soft. _There was nothing soft about this.

Malfoy demanded his attention; lips pressed against his, moving roughly against his mouth. A flick of a tongue here, a touch of a nibble there. Harry's body betrayed him, responding eagerly as Malfoy's teeth scaped against his bottom lip, a low moan escaping before Harry could pull it back.

Fuck, Harry kissed back willingly, a hand hesitantly moving to Malfoy's back to keep him there, in case he had second thoughts. He wasn't escaping this time; there was no attention seeking housemates' perving on the scene, which he knew of, and no need to stop.

His heart thumped loudly as Malfoy forced his way into his mouth, so loud that he was sure the Slytherin was smirking against his lips again. He could barely breathe; his chest was about to explode. He needed air, but wasn't going to move away anytime soon.

He felt alive.

He couldn't see Malfoy, but Merlin, he could feel him.

The blondes tongue glided against his, pulling it, controlling it. Harry hadn't been kissed like this before; his stomach was warm, a bundle of nerves he couldn't control. Every touch was deliberate. A hand to his cheek, a stroke behind his ear. Fuck, he was burning up. Was the floor always this hot?

…

Harry had heard terms thrown around lately, about male relationships. Though he knew most were offensive, there was one that he had understood, sort of.

And he had decided, he was _not_ _'bottom_'.

So Harry shoved back with his tongue, trying to move the attention away from his mouth towards Malfoy's. He felt Malfoy still a little in surprise, then shove back. He managed to control his moan this time, instead turning it into a pathetic little mewl. Great. Fantastic.

Hmm. He was losing this battle.

He moved his hands a little, tightening his hold on the blonde. His slid one to Malfoy's neck, pushing him down slightly, controlling where he could put his head, and maybe the force of the kiss.

Malfoy slid his hands from Harry's face, instead grabbed a wrist each and slammed it to the carpet. He held them there, his thumbs stroking Harry's wrists.

Harry bit his lip in a bold move, a bit harder than he had intended.

Malfoy bit him back, meaning to generate the small yelp from Harry.

Neither had pulled away from the kiss; Harry was quite lightheaded by this time. His lungs were screaming for air, but he couldn't pull away. He couldn't lose.

Malfoy was _definitely _smirking now, but he didn't move away either. In fact, he deepened the kiss, as if trying to get Harry to moan again.

Fuck, he needed to breathe. He needed to…

Harry slipped his ankles around Malfoy's, twisted his hands around to grab onto Malfoy's wrists. In one jerky movement, he forced his stomach to bend, shoving himself up and off of the ground…

And rolled over Malfoy, forcing _him_ to be lying down, _his_ wrists held against the carpet near his head.

Malfoy moved his head away, finally breaking the kiss. He gulped in a breath, bursting out laughing.

Thank God.

Harry released his wrists, rolling over and panted, trying to get his own breath back. It was worse than when he had been in the lake, transformed back into a human after the gillyweed had worn off. His entire chest ached; he couldn't gulp down air quick enough.

His brain was muttering darkly at him for stopping the kiss, threatening him to simultaneously never do that again, and to do it now!

"Merlin, Potty," Malfoy laughed from next to him, his body shaking with mirth. "Not everything is a competition."

Tch, why didn't he give up then?

Harry merely shrugged, his brain a bit fuzzy on _how_ that had exactly happened. One moment he was ranting, getting louder and louder, and Malfoy had…dived on him. How the hell did _that_ happen? When Harry was fighting with Ginny, she would shout back or turn and cry. _Never_ had she dived at him and attacked him with her _tongue_.

"…Uh…what…what was that about?" He panted, turning to stare at the blurred outline of Malfoy.

"Are you complaining?" He could _hear_ the smirk in his voice.

"No."

"Then don't ask." Malfoy replied dryly. He seemed to be getting his breath back much quicker than Harry. Bastard.

"…but-"

"Oh, for fuck's sake, Potty," He sounded exasperated, instead of angry. "You're not in denial anymore. You don't want to die. I don't want you to die. I'm _happy_. Can you let it be? I can practically hear your brain cells committing suicide."

Harry blinked at that, not sure how to feel.

Malfoy…happy?

He snorted to himself, shaking his head as he rolled over, pushing himself up off of the floor. Yeah, when hell froze over.

He felt around on the floor, trying to find the scraps of metal that he was dependant on. If he couldn't see his hand on the floor, he highly doubted that he would be able to find them. What if they had crushed them during their...uh, kiss? He wasn't going to wrap them up with sticky-tape again; it wasn't the best look. He had his reputation to uphold, after all.

Harry snorted to himself again, smiling as he felt around on the floor.

"What are you doing?" Malfoy asked, sounding amused as he watched Harry struggle. As if he didn't know Harry was blind without his scraps of metal and glass. And pigs could fly. Well, in the muggle sense. Harry didn't know if pigs could actually fly in the wizarding world. He should find out; something to add to the limited plethora of wizarding knowledge in his head.

"Trying to find my glasses. I can't see a bloody thing." Harry replied, frowning as he struggled on the floor. He needed to find the book too, to hide if before Malfoy read the cover. That was one particular thing he wanted to struggle through himself.

He shuffled on for a few more moments before realising Malfoy hadn't moved.

"A little help would be…well, you know, _helpful."_

"Harry, you're wearing your glasses."

…

Oh.

.

.

.


End file.
